This one's a winner, and deserve(s)(d) a bigger following. Funny; tense; unpredictable; great-accent-heavy; well-written, directed, and acted (Colin Farrell's best performance, like ever). Good, good stuff.
Saturday, January 10, 2009
In Bruges, a wake-up call
Underrated, slept-on, overlooked, unfairly ignored, wake up and check it out, blah blah, etc. etc.
This one's a winner, and deserve(s)(d) a bigger following. Funny; tense; unpredictable; great-accent-heavy; well-written, directed, and acted (Colin Farrell's best performance, like ever). Good, good stuff.
This one's a winner, and deserve(s)(d) a bigger following. Funny; tense; unpredictable; great-accent-heavy; well-written, directed, and acted (Colin Farrell's best performance, like ever). Good, good stuff.
Friday, January 9, 2009
Netflix Fix -- Angel Heart (1987)
Some classic Mickey Rourke for that ass, post-The Wrestler adoration. I'd seen bits and pieces of this one on TV years back, and was always intrigued, but just never got around to watching it top-to-bottom. Thanks to my love of Rourke's comeback extravanganza The Wrestler, I bumped this one up to the peak of my Queue, and now have finally seen the entirety.
Quite the pitch-perfect example of how important atmosphere is to a film. There's a coating of Gothic dread and this-won't-end-positively in every frame of this bad boy, it's it's gumshoe-level-difficulty to fall head first into its world of voodoo macabre and Dick Tracy private eye procedure. And gumshoe is a fitting word here; set in 1955, Rourke plays a Brooklyn-born gumshoe detective Harry Angel, hired by a creepy attorney (played by Robert De Niro) to track down Johnny Favourite, a musician who went missing back in '43. What meets Angel along the way includes dead bodies galore, exposed hearts (of the actual human organ kind), and several plot twists.
Not to boast or brag, but I called the end twist pretty early on, after some detective work of my own done as the story hurled forward. This isn't to say that I didn't enjoy Angel Heart, though; on the contrary, I loved it, and was constantly hooked. Which says loads about how writer/directo Alan Parker paces and shoots the thing, along with a crackerjack cinematographer on staff. This picture looks superb, rich with gritty New Orleans slums and water-drenched, lie-infested, seedy New York streets.
The anchor of it all is Rourke, who made Angel Heart during his early years of "could be the next Marlon Brando" raw greatness. A rugged, smooth-talking, fight-ready slob of a man, Angel knows he's being swept into something he's unprepared for, but he's a man who finishes every job he starts, and this Johnny Favourite case is no exception, even if the murders and hidden surfaces keep testing his nerve. All this is nailed by Rourke, with his magnetic machismo and grizzeled "cool." It's great to see him back in action these days, because films like Angel Heart show that he really is something special when on screen.
Can't discuss Angel Heart without turning the spotlight toward Lisa Bonet, of course. This was her first serious film role after The Cosby Show, and talk about a departure. She oozes sexuality here, specifically in a sweat-filled, steamy sex scene with Rourke that's punctuated by leaking water and blood pouring from the room's ceiling. To call the scene "wildly perverse" would be a beastly understatement.
She even makes chicken-slaying seductive, no matter if you're a breast or thigh guy (poultry sex humor, anyone?)
Angel Heart rarely receives the "remember that classic?" treatment, and having now rode shotgun with it, I'm seeing how much of a crime that is, the oversight. The influence this film must've had on the folks behind some of my favorite art entries speaks volumes t why I'm such a fan. Christopher Nolan's mindbender Memento has traces of the Heart, as does Dennis Lehane's rock-solid guessing game novel Shutter Island (my favorite book ever at this life junction).
If you've never seen this one, get on that. Soon. Especially if you're as partial to twisty, turny tales (alliteration strikes back) as one MBarone.
Thursday, January 8, 2009
Netflix Fix -- Alucarda (1978)
Go for it, call me a closet sicko. I'm starting to think I really am one, thanks to the voluntary exposure to, and somewhat-shameful-but-mostly-proud enjoyment of, shit like this.
Not sure what the fuck I watched last night. Something made in Mexico about a parentless beauty who moves into a convent, befriends a girl named Alucarda. The two of them become best chums immediately, and frollick into the woods where some hunchback who looks like the Burger King "King" mascot lives in the woods nearby. Shortly after, Lucifer-summoned demons possess them, and their dress code quickly shifts to "strictly Birthday Suits," with some lesbian loving sprinkled in the pot. Exorcisms go haywire, and the whole thing ends in a fire-blazer of a splendid finale, with Alucarda incinerating nuns at will and quite possible influencing Stephen King (see the similarly roast-and-toast climaxes of Carrie and Firestarter).
And a cinematic record is set for Most Female Screams Ever Heard In A Single Movie.
Cue end credits.
In other words, Alucarda boasts the quintessential recipe for nonsensical awesomeness.
Alucarda is another prime example of a film that makes me wish I was around during the 1970s-heyday of exploitation and boundary-less, what-the-fuck-is-going-on moviemaking. When watching films from that era, there's such a feeling of insecurity as a viewer. Anything can happen in front of you, and the filmmakers were taking chances and risks left and right, so even when poorly executed the festivities captivated. Or repulsed, depending on your stance.
Can't even recall where I first heard about this one. Probably while reading one of my precious horror websites, where I'm sure it was praised for its esoteric, blood-coated bullshit aura.
Call this a "King sandwich"
Don't ask....that horned son-of-a-bitch chaperones a satanic outdoor orgy, so you know he's on some other shit
Just watch this, and see for yourself the blasphemic insanity I've experienced:
Not sure what the fuck I watched last night. Something made in Mexico about a parentless beauty who moves into a convent, befriends a girl named Alucarda. The two of them become best chums immediately, and frollick into the woods where some hunchback who looks like the Burger King "King" mascot lives in the woods nearby. Shortly after, Lucifer-summoned demons possess them, and their dress code quickly shifts to "strictly Birthday Suits," with some lesbian loving sprinkled in the pot. Exorcisms go haywire, and the whole thing ends in a fire-blazer of a splendid finale, with Alucarda incinerating nuns at will and quite possible influencing Stephen King (see the similarly roast-and-toast climaxes of Carrie and Firestarter).
And a cinematic record is set for Most Female Screams Ever Heard In A Single Movie.
Cue end credits.
In other words, Alucarda boasts the quintessential recipe for nonsensical awesomeness.
Alucarda is another prime example of a film that makes me wish I was around during the 1970s-heyday of exploitation and boundary-less, what-the-fuck-is-going-on moviemaking. When watching films from that era, there's such a feeling of insecurity as a viewer. Anything can happen in front of you, and the filmmakers were taking chances and risks left and right, so even when poorly executed the festivities captivated. Or repulsed, depending on your stance.
Can't even recall where I first heard about this one. Probably while reading one of my precious horror websites, where I'm sure it was praised for its esoteric, blood-coated bullshit aura.
Call this a "King sandwich"
Don't ask....that horned son-of-a-bitch chaperones a satanic outdoor orgy, so you know he's on some other shit
Just watch this, and see for yourself the blasphemic insanity I've experienced:
The Last House on the Left remake trailer arrives, and convinces
The plan was to give that preceding Notorious post some time to breath, but fuck it. The full official trailer for the remake of Wes Craven's The Last House on the Left warrants immediate attention.
After watching that....here's a remake I once detested but now anticipate enthusiastically.
Is it just me, though, or is this trailer basically the entire movie condensed? Let's hope not.
Some obvious deviations from the original's set-up are noticed off the bat, though they're welcome (I've always thought the opening section of the original was its weakest chunk). Also some general plot-point switcheroos that I'll have to see in full context before judging. And there's the instant-plus-siding-presence of the cutie who played Becca in Superbad ("I'm going to give you...the best blow-j...everrr!"). And isn't that the dude from Ghost (wait...maybe asking that question implies something that could make me target practice for smart-aleks, such as me actually knowing actors other than Patrick Swayze who were in Ghost)?
And how about the "Sweet Child of Mine" cover? Unexpected, yet somehow effective. Oh, and man-tied-down-while-is-positioned-in-a-microwave earns instant points for originality in the bodycount margin.
Overall: looks like it has completely trashed the whole moronic subplot with those two goofy-ass cops, and just generally seems to have a consistently moody, bleak tone. Which is encouraging. The original is a hugely flawed flick that packs enough moments of visceral brilliance to deem it a winner. Based off this trailer, those flaws may be rectified. I'm very intrigued.
If 1972's The Last House on the Left isn't the least likely film for a remake, considering its utter depravity and sadism, I don't know what it is. Could these folks have proven me wrong? So far, so possible. Now all we need is a release date for this bitch and we're open for business.
After watching that....here's a remake I once detested but now anticipate enthusiastically.
Is it just me, though, or is this trailer basically the entire movie condensed? Let's hope not.
Some obvious deviations from the original's set-up are noticed off the bat, though they're welcome (I've always thought the opening section of the original was its weakest chunk). Also some general plot-point switcheroos that I'll have to see in full context before judging. And there's the instant-plus-siding-presence of the cutie who played Becca in Superbad ("I'm going to give you...the best blow-j...everrr!"). And isn't that the dude from Ghost (wait...maybe asking that question implies something that could make me target practice for smart-aleks, such as me actually knowing actors other than Patrick Swayze who were in Ghost)?
And how about the "Sweet Child of Mine" cover? Unexpected, yet somehow effective. Oh, and man-tied-down-while-is-positioned-in-a-microwave earns instant points for originality in the bodycount margin.
Overall: looks like it has completely trashed the whole moronic subplot with those two goofy-ass cops, and just generally seems to have a consistently moody, bleak tone. Which is encouraging. The original is a hugely flawed flick that packs enough moments of visceral brilliance to deem it a winner. Based off this trailer, those flaws may be rectified. I'm very intrigued.
If 1972's The Last House on the Left isn't the least likely film for a remake, considering its utter depravity and sadism, I don't know what it is. Could these folks have proven me wrong? So far, so possible. Now all we need is a release date for this bitch and we're open for business.
Notorious D.U.D.? Thankfully, not quite
Considering the megaton-bomb-sized disaster this could've been, Notorious is a much better film than expected. The problem areas are certainly there, some tough to shake off despite the best efforts to just sit back and enjoy. But what the Biggie biopic does so well is entertain, balancing a steady score of his classic tracks with surprisingly strong and convincing performances from nearly all involved. Full disclosure: I went in anticipating the worst, forming a too-early judgment, based off those truly terrible-looking clips that popped up on MTV.com, so the bar was lower than Wall Street's morale from the opening scene. But as the movie progressed and I noticed my senses acutely pleased, I thought to myself: By George, I think they've got it.
The bulk of my praise goes to one Jamal "Gravy" Woolard, the previously-lame mixtape rapper who's basically given his career ten spark plugs' worth of juice with his portrayal of one Christopher Wallace. His pedigree is clearly just right: from the same Bed-Stuy section of Brooklyn; a rapper himself; and packing looks that give the impression of one-too-many trips to Mickey Ds. I'd never seen the guy give any on-camera interviews before this, so who the hell knows if he's genuinely charismatic. But here, he makes for one hell of a presence. Likeable, charming, rugged, and vulnerable, Woolard comes about as close as I'd imagine any overweight Brooklynite ever could to embodying the borough's patron saint. Especially nailing Biggie's voice. Clearly, Woolard studied the shit out of Biggie sound bytes, because every cadence and droll, breathy tone gives you the impression that you're indeed hearing B.I.G himself. I didn't think Woolard, a first-time actor, would be able to carry the movie on his pudgy shoulders, but he's slapped my doubts into shape.
The same goes for several other of the cast, namely the great Angela Bassett as his mother, Volletta Wallace. Giving the appropriate spaces between each word, Bassett, like Woolard, sounds just like the woman, and her scenes with Woolard show off some nice mother/son chemistry. The bit where she throws his out cocaine stash thinking it was leftover mashed potatoes brushed under his bed is a good touch, too. A similarly commanding presence of estrogen comes from Antonique Smith, another big-screen newbie who plays Faith Evans. The rapport and puppy love moments between Faith and Big come off rather real, due to the believable back-and-forth between Smith and Woolard, whether she's beatboxing her way into his heart or beating the ever-living piss out of some blonde groupie she's caught in bed fucking her husband.
Kudos should be also be awarded to Naturi Naughton's breasts, which feature prominently here and are quite the horndog sight. The reason why her boobies deserve such recognition: according to Notorious, Lil Kim was nothing more than a Biggie-obsessed sex fiend. Not a good look for Kim, though Naughton does her best to make the hoodrat-gone-legit-but-still-a-freak a ticking heart. But in the end, Kim comes across as a sideline ho too emotionally penetrable to handle Biggie's player ways. Who's to say she wasn't that way? Still, I'd love to hear Kim's own thoughts. Too bad she's the one person who's deadset against Notorious, and has opted to never watch the film. Can't blame her...what woman would jump at the chance to see herself riding a man's johnson with ferocity on the big screen, or having that same man violently push her against a recording booth's wall while calling her a "bitch" in a fit of rage?
Keeping the not-so-good portrayals in mind, Anthony Mackie's work as 2Pac is a total misfire. Never for one second did I believe that dude was Pac; it's not even worth singling out specific nuances that were off, because Mackie (a damn good actor in any other situation) just isn't Pac, and bares no resemblances, physical or essential, to the man. A lack of physicality alone wouldn't be a thing---take Derek Luke in the Puff Daddy role, for instance. Looks absolutely nathan like Puff, but still captures the bombastic confidence of the man, as well as the laughably-hokey on-stage dance moves. It's all in the essence for Luke's take on Puff. Mackie, though, doesn't transcend any further than the Pac-bandana he sports.
Skim over the film's credits, and you'll see that the following heads all watched over the production closely: Diddy, Faith, Lil Cease (who never looks older than 11 years old, in a distractingly hilarious "get the fuck out of here" actor choice), and Mark Pitts (Big's manager, who acts as a calm, cool backbone in the film's narrative). Having those who knew and loved the man act as supervisors makes sense, in theory---their presence allows for a good amount of factual awareness, and (theoretically) prevents Big's legacy from being represented in shitty fashion. And that's fortunately the end result here, but in hindsight, the film's biggest flaw is the flick's overall "la di da" attitude. Diddy, for example, comes off as the cleanest, most philosophic man alive, rather than a man who suffers from characters snafus just like the rest of us.
But where's Biggie's sordid side affair with Charli Baltimore? And were the in-studio jumpoffs that inspired Biggie to write "Juicy" by blowing him and diking out on his lap while naked really busty perfect-10 pinups? Why not at least briefly show Biggie's motivation behind assembling Junior M.A.F.I.A., the most tell-tale evidence of his loyalty and kind-hearted nature toward his friend?
At times, Notorious comes off too much like Biggie's Greatest Hits rather than a fluid story. It can't beasy condensing a man's life into a compact two-hour film, so why not just focus on his recording artist years? By glossing over his father-less, from-bookish-student-to-street-corner-hustler earlier years Notorious doesn't give his upbringing enough room to breath.
These are all nitpicks of a too-sensitive moviegoer, truthfully. I'm willing to bet half of my DVD collection that middle America, and the millions of casual Notorious B.I.G. fans worldwide, will have a great, moving time with this one. It touches on all the highlights that they've heard about, and includes enough of his bigger radio hits to keep heads nodding and nostalgia flowing. But for those who really knew the man (myself obviously not included in the slightest) or have had the luxury of speaking with former associates and reading every published music magazine piece about him (myself included here, naturally), though, Notorious leaves too many questions and raised eye-brows in its wake to be considered a total success.
In a world where rapper biopics have been non-existent, however, even a sufficient success is more than welcome. I'd totally see Notorious again, and that's saying something, isn't it? I can't help but be thankful for the film; without it, I wouldn't be sitting here feeling the re-energized "I love hip hop" sensation that I'm basking in as I type. Notorious has so many great small touches that should instantly bring smiles to the faces of purists who evolved as rap lovers during the early-to-mid-1990s: watching Lil Kim reveal her rap skills to Biggie by spitting along with Buckshot to Black Moon's "Who Got Da Props?"; seeing Biggie piss off Mark Pitts by rapping the opening bars from "Unbelievable" rather than some radio-friendly jargon that'd sound fitting atop the Mtume "Juicy Fruit" sample.
Here's one flick where I'm totally cool with turning my critical eye off and simply enjoying the ride. Hopefully it pulls in some heavy bank, because what I'd truly love to see, even more so than a Biggie movie, is a Tupac Shakur biopic. That'd make for a way more compelling/enlightening/infuriating/dramatic experience, if you ask me.
Barack Obama kicks it with Spiderman (seriously)
Because, why not? I guess.
No, no, let me rephrase. What a cheap, stupid gimmick on Marvel Comics' part.
Yeah, this is super lame. But worth covering. I've fallen right into Spidey and Marvel's web....dammit, man!
Notice the dialogue in Spiderman's quote bubble on the cover. Fail, miserably.
Spotted over at: /Film
No, no, let me rephrase. What a cheap, stupid gimmick on Marvel Comics' part.
Yeah, this is super lame. But worth covering. I've fallen right into Spidey and Marvel's web....dammit, man!
Notice the dialogue in Spiderman's quote bubble on the cover. Fail, miserably.
Spotted over at: /Film
Extremely late Christmas-related post, made timely by MST 3000
Mystery Science Theater 3000 roasts Santa Claus, this obscure Spanish holiday film that may very well be the creepiest holiday film ever made. Unintentionally so. Even scarier than the great original Black Christmas, which sent shivers on purpose.
This would've been perfect for a Christmas day post, but fuck it. Dropped the ball on that one. Still, it's Mike, Tom Servo, and Crow, so it's more than worthy, and hilarious.
If anything, you may want to fast forward over the parts where they're not watching the movie. The meat here lies within the faux theater.
[Blogger really needs to stretch the width of the posting area. You can't even see Crow to Mike's right. Excuse that, if anybody out there ever actually gives this clip a chance. Sometimes I wonder if I'm the only one watching these videos I post here. But then I realize that I don't care either way, as long as I myself enjoy them, and all is well. After all, this is my blog/site, and I can post what I want to. Post what I want to. Post what I want to.]
via videosift.com
This would've been perfect for a Christmas day post, but fuck it. Dropped the ball on that one. Still, it's Mike, Tom Servo, and Crow, so it's more than worthy, and hilarious.
If anything, you may want to fast forward over the parts where they're not watching the movie. The meat here lies within the faux theater.
[Blogger really needs to stretch the width of the posting area. You can't even see Crow to Mike's right. Excuse that, if anybody out there ever actually gives this clip a chance. Sometimes I wonder if I'm the only one watching these videos I post here. But then I realize that I don't care either way, as long as I myself enjoy them, and all is well. After all, this is my blog/site, and I can post what I want to. Post what I want to. Post what I want to.]
via videosift.com
My favorite song of the moment is.....
Royce Da 5'9 - "Shake This"
A new Royce album executive produced by DJ Premier? Can't wait. Finally, Royce's always-on-point lyrics will have the caliber of production they deserve.
Wednesday, January 7, 2009
Loved Iron Man? Then get a load of this....
Learned over at: JoBlo
Maybe it's because The Dark Knight came and totally stole its thunder, but Iron Man has been all but forgotten by yours truly. Which, I know, I know, is pretty shitty, considering how strong and entertaining it is. Though, maybe my total disdain over how anticlimactic the entire final act of Iron Man is has something to do with this; you know, how the final fight versus War Monger devolves into a Transformers jackoff and goes absolutely nowhere.
Well, looks like Iron Man 2 will have two fucking-awesome actors playing villains, leaving plenty of room for a much-improved finale. Reports are saying that, first, Mickey Rourke is damn near close to signing on as a villain, one Crimson Dynamo (picture below), "a Russian equivalent of Tony Stark who builds himself a nuclear-powered suit," for the sequel. As if having the newly-resuscitated mammoth of an actor Rourke involved wasn't enough, further reports are saying that Sam Rockwell is is close to joining ship as a second, unnamed villain (some are speculating that he'd be playing Justin Hammer, a superpower-less industrialist who funds and equips many of Iron Man's foes). And if you know me and my movie likings, you'd know that Rockwell is one of my favorite actors working today. The guy just brings it every time, and picks projects like none other.
Rourke
Crimson Dynamo
Rockwell
Justin Hammer
Seems a bit older than Rockwell, but that's a minor detail I'm sure the screenplay could adjust accordingly.
Fingers crossed that both end up being true, and not speculative rumor. Normally, I wouldn't even bother giving something like this an entire post, but this news is just too sweet to let pass.
Rourke is a bit of a wild card here, though, in all honesty. Only because after The Wrestler you'd think it'd be best for his career to keep the serious-role-streak going. But then I remember that he also just signed on to Sly Stallone's ensemble action thing The Expendables, and I realize that Rourke is choosing projects that seem like fun, rather than looking for further Oscar bait. And that's pretty cool, right?
Of course, neither of these has been officially announced yet. Just mentioned by Variety, which is a reassuring sign of impending confirmation.
If this all turns out to be bullshit, just forget this post ever happened.
Maybe it's because The Dark Knight came and totally stole its thunder, but Iron Man has been all but forgotten by yours truly. Which, I know, I know, is pretty shitty, considering how strong and entertaining it is. Though, maybe my total disdain over how anticlimactic the entire final act of Iron Man is has something to do with this; you know, how the final fight versus War Monger devolves into a Transformers jackoff and goes absolutely nowhere.
Well, looks like Iron Man 2 will have two fucking-awesome actors playing villains, leaving plenty of room for a much-improved finale. Reports are saying that, first, Mickey Rourke is damn near close to signing on as a villain, one Crimson Dynamo (picture below), "a Russian equivalent of Tony Stark who builds himself a nuclear-powered suit," for the sequel. As if having the newly-resuscitated mammoth of an actor Rourke involved wasn't enough, further reports are saying that Sam Rockwell is is close to joining ship as a second, unnamed villain (some are speculating that he'd be playing Justin Hammer, a superpower-less industrialist who funds and equips many of Iron Man's foes). And if you know me and my movie likings, you'd know that Rockwell is one of my favorite actors working today. The guy just brings it every time, and picks projects like none other.
Rourke
Crimson Dynamo
Rockwell
Justin Hammer
Seems a bit older than Rockwell, but that's a minor detail I'm sure the screenplay could adjust accordingly.
Fingers crossed that both end up being true, and not speculative rumor. Normally, I wouldn't even bother giving something like this an entire post, but this news is just too sweet to let pass.
Rourke is a bit of a wild card here, though, in all honesty. Only because after The Wrestler you'd think it'd be best for his career to keep the serious-role-streak going. But then I remember that he also just signed on to Sly Stallone's ensemble action thing The Expendables, and I realize that Rourke is choosing projects that seem like fun, rather than looking for further Oscar bait. And that's pretty cool, right?
Of course, neither of these has been officially announced yet. Just mentioned by Variety, which is a reassuring sign of impending confirmation.
If this all turns out to be bullshit, just forget this post ever happened.
A buffet of morning nourishment, served in an '80s cinema-bowl
I love this.
[Assuming you recall the original Breakfast Club poster. If you don't, I shake my head in your direction.]
“You see us as you want to see us, in the simplest terms, in the most convenient definitions. But what we found out is that each one of us is a leprechaun, a monster, a cap’n, a tiger, and a rabbit. Sincerely yours, the Breakfast Cereal Club.”
**Spotted over at Cinematical , but originally from Ironic Sans
[Assuming you recall the original Breakfast Club poster. If you don't, I shake my head in your direction.]
“You see us as you want to see us, in the simplest terms, in the most convenient definitions. But what we found out is that each one of us is a leprechaun, a monster, a cap’n, a tiger, and a rabbit. Sincerely yours, the Breakfast Cereal Club.”
**Spotted over at Cinematical , but originally from Ironic Sans
Guilty pleasure now just making me feel guilty, period
This annoying, bimbo, airhead, talentless, waste of good air drama queen just got her own reality show. Didn't take Nostradamus to see this one coming, especially after her "controversial" beating at the hands of Sharon Osborne on that Charm School reunion mess.
Gold-diggers, say hello to your queen/spokeswoman:
From: Defamer
"Speaking of perfect marriages, you probably won't have one with Osbourne scratch post Megan Hauserman, who after a month is still looking for wealthy men to buy her, ahem, hand in her next reality atrocity, Trophy Wife. Come one, come all, you Los Angeles and Las Vegas Craigslisters — all this can be yours:
Looking for the ultimate Trophy Wife? Reality TV Star and Playboy Cybergirl Megan Hauserman is looking for a man who will shower her with love and money.
If you are a single man with the net worth of $1,000,000 or more, then Megan would love to meet you. Whether you are a CEO or a TRUST FUND BABY, she would make the perfect arm candy for any man...who can afford her!"
I can't shake this "I'm partly to blame for" feeling. I'd imagine this is how the party-loving best friend of an alcoholic feels. You know, the dude who is fully aware of his pal's sipping addiction yet still forces him out to clubs where shots pour in rapid succession. A shameful enabler.
I'm guilty as charged when it comes to watching I Love Money, Real Chance at Love, Rock of Love, Double Shot at Love, etc. But when a slut-bucket does a body shot out of another slut-bucket's cooch on Rock of Love Bus, an internal trigger begins firing at my better judgment like a tommygun, and it hits me: "I'm giving this asinine bullshit ratings right now."
Therefore, I'm as much to blame for Megan Ho-serman getting her own society-devolving quasi-reality show as the next Celebreality junkie. Trophy Wife will be a celebration of gold-digging that'll obviously be a smash hit, and introduce the world to a slew of money-hungry douchebags who'll eventually be awarded their own spinoff shows. And the cycle of brain-slaughtering will go on, and on, and on.
And, as long as there's gorgeous new faces blessed with killer curves and reckless inhibitions, I'll be compelled to stop doing productive shit and watch them make-out with each other, instead. What a pickle.
Trophy Wife, however....I'd sooner endure Bromance, the ultimate reality TV cesspool. Don't even get me started on that shit.
Gold-diggers, say hello to your queen/spokeswoman:
From: Defamer
"Speaking of perfect marriages, you probably won't have one with Osbourne scratch post Megan Hauserman, who after a month is still looking for wealthy men to buy her, ahem, hand in her next reality atrocity, Trophy Wife. Come one, come all, you Los Angeles and Las Vegas Craigslisters — all this can be yours:
Looking for the ultimate Trophy Wife? Reality TV Star and Playboy Cybergirl Megan Hauserman is looking for a man who will shower her with love and money.
If you are a single man with the net worth of $1,000,000 or more, then Megan would love to meet you. Whether you are a CEO or a TRUST FUND BABY, she would make the perfect arm candy for any man...who can afford her!"
I can't shake this "I'm partly to blame for" feeling. I'd imagine this is how the party-loving best friend of an alcoholic feels. You know, the dude who is fully aware of his pal's sipping addiction yet still forces him out to clubs where shots pour in rapid succession. A shameful enabler.
I'm guilty as charged when it comes to watching I Love Money, Real Chance at Love, Rock of Love, Double Shot at Love, etc. But when a slut-bucket does a body shot out of another slut-bucket's cooch on Rock of Love Bus, an internal trigger begins firing at my better judgment like a tommygun, and it hits me: "I'm giving this asinine bullshit ratings right now."
Therefore, I'm as much to blame for Megan Ho-serman getting her own society-devolving quasi-reality show as the next Celebreality junkie. Trophy Wife will be a celebration of gold-digging that'll obviously be a smash hit, and introduce the world to a slew of money-hungry douchebags who'll eventually be awarded their own spinoff shows. And the cycle of brain-slaughtering will go on, and on, and on.
And, as long as there's gorgeous new faces blessed with killer curves and reckless inhibitions, I'll be compelled to stop doing productive shit and watch them make-out with each other, instead. What a pickle.
Trophy Wife, however....I'd sooner endure Bromance, the ultimate reality TV cesspool. Don't even get me started on that shit.
Eden Lake, a shitty place to raise your kids....
....or to take what you'd think would be a relaxing, scenic respite.
Bought this one on DVD yesterday, immediately watched it once I returned home from the wackness that was The Unborn, in hopes of salvaging the evening with some well-done shocks. The whole "couple is stalked and attacked by evildoers in isolated, unfamiliar woods" thing has been done to death, but never before with junior-high-school-student-aged kids as the assailants. Giving this an intriguing edge from jump street.
After The Unborn's stank, an improvement in entertainment was mandatory. Mission accomplished.
I'm still reeling a bit from Eden Lake, honestly. If Jack Ketchum were to write a screenplay and then sent it over to the United Kingdom for an upstart talented filmmaker (James Watkins, in this case), this would be the final product. Bleak as sin, real as life. Uncompromising, and rollercoaster in exposition. You get glass shards in pre-teen necks, while other young bucks are set ablaze while still breathing and pleading for their lives. But all this savagery feels right, not exploitative in any way.
Very tight, smart script, and fine acting. A new redhead actress for me to swoon over (Kelly Reilly), and an actor who'll appear in Tarantino's Inglourious Basterds (Michael Fassbender). Plus, the ultimate "nail jammed into person's foot" scene in film history, if I have any say in the matter. Not that there's actual a poll for such a moment, but if there ever is, this one's a shoe-in. Pun not avoided.
For a second, while standing on line at Best Buy yesterday morning, with Eden Lake and Pineapple Express (the 2-disc unrated edition...fuck yeah) in hand, ready for purchase, I asked myself, "I haven't even seen Eden Lake yet, is it smart to just drop $15 on it based off widespread critical acclaim?" Instincts got the best of me, ultimately for the best. A fine addition to the ever-inflating DVD collection, and one I'm hoping to put some friends on to in due time.
Bought this one on DVD yesterday, immediately watched it once I returned home from the wackness that was The Unborn, in hopes of salvaging the evening with some well-done shocks. The whole "couple is stalked and attacked by evildoers in isolated, unfamiliar woods" thing has been done to death, but never before with junior-high-school-student-aged kids as the assailants. Giving this an intriguing edge from jump street.
After The Unborn's stank, an improvement in entertainment was mandatory. Mission accomplished.
I'm still reeling a bit from Eden Lake, honestly. If Jack Ketchum were to write a screenplay and then sent it over to the United Kingdom for an upstart talented filmmaker (James Watkins, in this case), this would be the final product. Bleak as sin, real as life. Uncompromising, and rollercoaster in exposition. You get glass shards in pre-teen necks, while other young bucks are set ablaze while still breathing and pleading for their lives. But all this savagery feels right, not exploitative in any way.
Very tight, smart script, and fine acting. A new redhead actress for me to swoon over (Kelly Reilly), and an actor who'll appear in Tarantino's Inglourious Basterds (Michael Fassbender). Plus, the ultimate "nail jammed into person's foot" scene in film history, if I have any say in the matter. Not that there's actual a poll for such a moment, but if there ever is, this one's a shoe-in. Pun not avoided.
For a second, while standing on line at Best Buy yesterday morning, with Eden Lake and Pineapple Express (the 2-disc unrated edition...fuck yeah) in hand, ready for purchase, I asked myself, "I haven't even seen Eden Lake yet, is it smart to just drop $15 on it based off widespread critical acclaim?" Instincts got the best of me, ultimately for the best. A fine addition to the ever-inflating DVD collection, and one I'm hoping to put some friends on to in due time.
Tuesday, January 6, 2009
The Underwhelming, or, The Undercooked
Or, The Unworthy....You get the point.
Welcome to my scattered-brained reactions to The Unborn. Saw this less than two hours ago, and so many questions and complaints bouncing around my melon that I'm sure I'll forget some here. But again, as I've stated in the past: these post-movie write-ups aren't outlined, structured reviews by any means. Rather, they're knee-jerk reactions, free of editing and devoid of extensive proofreading.
Now, on to the show.
Soooo many things wrong with The Unborn. I originally flirted with the idea of simply listing all of the film's faults, but then it struck me how boring that'd be; ranting in typed form endlessly seems so much more liberating.
David S. Goyer, the writer/director, approached this script in reverse, clearly. Sitting around on the set of The Dark Knight (which he co-wrote, but don't let this credit fool you into thinking The Unborn could even apply The Joker's makeup) one day, he must've saw a pitbull strutting down the street and thought, "Wouldn't it be cool if that dog's head was upside down?" And then, hours later, some cockroaches must've scurried on by his toes, and another image hit him: a sea of roaches swimming by atop a wave of putrid yellow mucus-sludge. A few more ghastly visions later, the lightbulb clicked above his head. "I got it....I'll formulate a pussy-willed PG-13 horror film around these images. Story last, specific scenes first."
I'm sure this looked cool in Goyer's thoughts. Too bad using it as a jumpoff point for a script is retarded.
Assuming this is how The Unborn was birthed, take one guess how it all turned out. Give up? A boring, scare-deficient, at-many-times laughable genre misfire that does feature a handful of inspired bits but falters seven times out of ten. From the opening dream sequence onward, the story unfolds in lazily episodic fashion, plodding along random "shock" scene after another, marching to a "twist" ending that Helen Keller would've seen coming about 35 minutes into this 90-minute film that felt way longer.
I really did want to like The Unborn. I was in the minority of those who found promise within its peculiar trailer and its stronger-than-usual-for-horror-flicks cast (Gary Oldman, Carla Gugino). Little did I know, though, that Gugino has a cool two minutes of total screen time, without dialogue, and that Oldman's rabbi character would be an invisible man in terms of fleshing out. Meagan Good, the eye candy extraordinaire that she always is, is stricken with some truly awful "perky, spunky best friend" lines, while this tool named Cam Gigandet brings less to his boyfriend role than required, which was nil to begin with, sadly.
The film rests on the sexy body of newcomer, and lead heroine, Odette Yustman, which would be even more tragic if the film's suckage was really her fault. She's trying her best here, though, and her subpar acting skills would be excusable in a flick packed with stronger writing and pacing. Gorgeous and tons of joy to look at, Yustman is magnetic enough in the physical sense to be a commanding lead, so all Goyer really had to do was surround her with quality scares and holy-shit imagery. Which he attempts, but fails.
I realize that my sometimes-tired "PG-13 horror sucks" complaints aren't particularly valid, since gore and other extremities do not always a scary film make. But in The Unborn's case, the PG-13 rating is the ultimate offender. Every, and I mean every, "terror" setpiece is cut short and/or edited down to show nothing more than scared facial expressions and all-too-quick glimpses of the evil at hand. Take the dream sequence where Yustman circles around her mom, who's seated in an otherwise empty room of the insane asylum she's committed to. Out of nowhere, mommy lifts her head up, only she's not Carla Gugino anymore but some freaky-looking tooth monster, with grimy chompers extended from forehead to lower neck. It's a pretty horrifying special effects creation, but before we can even get a good look at the bastard, the scene ends. Same goes for the film's best moment, where an elderly man spiderwalks after Yustman's grandmother down the halls of a retirement home. As he crab-crawls in rapid speed, his head contorts and twists like a bottle cap, and it's badass. But again, just as the scene is gaining momentum, Goyer chumps out and closes the curtain with a fucking lame jump-scare.
I was honestly ready stand up and cheer for this crazy old dude's money scene. Way to fuck it up, Sir Goyer.
You know what else Goyer and company fucked up? This little guy right here:
That's "Jumby," or whatever the fuck his name is, doing his best impression of "Matt Barone watching The Unborn." Spot on, Jumby. Spot on.
Speaking of which...what the fuck is a Jumby, anyway? Yustman's character's father explains to her that when her mother was preggers, they'd nicknamed the soon-to-be twin boy "Jumby," which leads the ghost to continually proclaim "Jumby is ready to be born now." Which is apparently a chilling sentence in Goyer's mind; in mine, its asinine, comical, and meaningless. How the hell does a parent nickname their unborn seed "Jumby"? ***Crickets. Tumbleweeds blow by.***
What's The Unborn about, though?, one might ask at this point. Try this on for size: Yustman begins suffering from "creepy" hallucinations full of ghostly kids and evil bathroom mirrors. Turns out, a demon spirit---hatched from the tortured soul of a little twin boy trapped in Auschwitz during the Holocaust (I'm dead ass)---had once tried to enter the world through Yustman's twin brother, but her sib died in utero. So now, said rugrat-poltergeist is pissed, and wants to kill all those around Yustman so he can have her body all to himself. Can't blame him for that much....she's one fine piece of ace.
That "Holocaust" plot point seems a bit much? The entire theater audience I saw this one with agrees. At one point, Yustman declares, "I have to finish what was started at Auschwitz," to which every one in attendance burst out in uncontrollable laughter, not to mention several sighs of disbelief and contempt.
But again, I'd be willing to look past such a problem if the movie had went balls-to-the-wall with some real horror tension. Not the case, at all. This is the most dreadfully dull horror film I've seen in many a moon, even tougher to sit through than Alex Aja's disgraceful Mirrors. Shit was so painful, I found myself growing tired of ogling over Ms. Odette Yustman, and that's a fucking blasphemic feeling.
See what I mean? How could any many heterosexual man deny their eyes of this?
And don't even get me started on one especially heinous moment of monumentally-poor "suspension of basic time principles" stupidity. Okay, I can't resist. [SPOILER ALERT] So Yustman and Meagan Good are chatting via Instant Messenger webcam, right. And Yustman warns Good that Jumby is going to kill her loved ones to get to her, including Ms. Good, but Good is a bimbo and ignores this warning. Instead, she goes downstairs to answer the doorbell, which happens to have been rung by Jumby-occupying-the-body-of-a-butt-ugly-kid who proceeds to stalk and stab Good all the back upstairs. Realizing that murder is afoot at Good's house, Yustman calls her tool of a boyfriend and orders him to meet her at Good's house immediately in hopes of saving Good. Now, mind you, three seconds after Good answers the door, which is seven seconds after pausing her webcam chat with Yustman (who is back at her own house, which isn't next door to Good's), Yustman and her boy-toy are already at Good's house to the rescue. Any attempt at comprehending or logically explaining this lapse of time-travel has made me want to slam my cranium into the nearest wall, so I've decided to just give up and hate this movie even more.
The Unborn sucks. Odette Yustman is likeable and beautiful, but that's not enough.
The Unborn? More like Still Born. Get it? How about, The Abortion? **Slapping my knee** I guarantee you that at least five film critics will use that joke in their own reviews. Check Rotten Tomatoes in a week to see for yourself.
Welcome to my scattered-brained reactions to The Unborn. Saw this less than two hours ago, and so many questions and complaints bouncing around my melon that I'm sure I'll forget some here. But again, as I've stated in the past: these post-movie write-ups aren't outlined, structured reviews by any means. Rather, they're knee-jerk reactions, free of editing and devoid of extensive proofreading.
Now, on to the show.
Soooo many things wrong with The Unborn. I originally flirted with the idea of simply listing all of the film's faults, but then it struck me how boring that'd be; ranting in typed form endlessly seems so much more liberating.
David S. Goyer, the writer/director, approached this script in reverse, clearly. Sitting around on the set of The Dark Knight (which he co-wrote, but don't let this credit fool you into thinking The Unborn could even apply The Joker's makeup) one day, he must've saw a pitbull strutting down the street and thought, "Wouldn't it be cool if that dog's head was upside down?" And then, hours later, some cockroaches must've scurried on by his toes, and another image hit him: a sea of roaches swimming by atop a wave of putrid yellow mucus-sludge. A few more ghastly visions later, the lightbulb clicked above his head. "I got it....I'll formulate a pussy-willed PG-13 horror film around these images. Story last, specific scenes first."
I'm sure this looked cool in Goyer's thoughts. Too bad using it as a jumpoff point for a script is retarded.
Assuming this is how The Unborn was birthed, take one guess how it all turned out. Give up? A boring, scare-deficient, at-many-times laughable genre misfire that does feature a handful of inspired bits but falters seven times out of ten. From the opening dream sequence onward, the story unfolds in lazily episodic fashion, plodding along random "shock" scene after another, marching to a "twist" ending that Helen Keller would've seen coming about 35 minutes into this 90-minute film that felt way longer.
I really did want to like The Unborn. I was in the minority of those who found promise within its peculiar trailer and its stronger-than-usual-for-horror-flicks cast (Gary Oldman, Carla Gugino). Little did I know, though, that Gugino has a cool two minutes of total screen time, without dialogue, and that Oldman's rabbi character would be an invisible man in terms of fleshing out. Meagan Good, the eye candy extraordinaire that she always is, is stricken with some truly awful "perky, spunky best friend" lines, while this tool named Cam Gigandet brings less to his boyfriend role than required, which was nil to begin with, sadly.
The film rests on the sexy body of newcomer, and lead heroine, Odette Yustman, which would be even more tragic if the film's suckage was really her fault. She's trying her best here, though, and her subpar acting skills would be excusable in a flick packed with stronger writing and pacing. Gorgeous and tons of joy to look at, Yustman is magnetic enough in the physical sense to be a commanding lead, so all Goyer really had to do was surround her with quality scares and holy-shit imagery. Which he attempts, but fails.
I realize that my sometimes-tired "PG-13 horror sucks" complaints aren't particularly valid, since gore and other extremities do not always a scary film make. But in The Unborn's case, the PG-13 rating is the ultimate offender. Every, and I mean every, "terror" setpiece is cut short and/or edited down to show nothing more than scared facial expressions and all-too-quick glimpses of the evil at hand. Take the dream sequence where Yustman circles around her mom, who's seated in an otherwise empty room of the insane asylum she's committed to. Out of nowhere, mommy lifts her head up, only she's not Carla Gugino anymore but some freaky-looking tooth monster, with grimy chompers extended from forehead to lower neck. It's a pretty horrifying special effects creation, but before we can even get a good look at the bastard, the scene ends. Same goes for the film's best moment, where an elderly man spiderwalks after Yustman's grandmother down the halls of a retirement home. As he crab-crawls in rapid speed, his head contorts and twists like a bottle cap, and it's badass. But again, just as the scene is gaining momentum, Goyer chumps out and closes the curtain with a fucking lame jump-scare.
I was honestly ready stand up and cheer for this crazy old dude's money scene. Way to fuck it up, Sir Goyer.
You know what else Goyer and company fucked up? This little guy right here:
That's "Jumby," or whatever the fuck his name is, doing his best impression of "Matt Barone watching The Unborn." Spot on, Jumby. Spot on.
Speaking of which...what the fuck is a Jumby, anyway? Yustman's character's father explains to her that when her mother was preggers, they'd nicknamed the soon-to-be twin boy "Jumby," which leads the ghost to continually proclaim "Jumby is ready to be born now." Which is apparently a chilling sentence in Goyer's mind; in mine, its asinine, comical, and meaningless. How the hell does a parent nickname their unborn seed "Jumby"? ***Crickets. Tumbleweeds blow by.***
What's The Unborn about, though?, one might ask at this point. Try this on for size: Yustman begins suffering from "creepy" hallucinations full of ghostly kids and evil bathroom mirrors. Turns out, a demon spirit---hatched from the tortured soul of a little twin boy trapped in Auschwitz during the Holocaust (I'm dead ass)---had once tried to enter the world through Yustman's twin brother, but her sib died in utero. So now, said rugrat-poltergeist is pissed, and wants to kill all those around Yustman so he can have her body all to himself. Can't blame him for that much....she's one fine piece of ace.
That "Holocaust" plot point seems a bit much? The entire theater audience I saw this one with agrees. At one point, Yustman declares, "I have to finish what was started at Auschwitz," to which every one in attendance burst out in uncontrollable laughter, not to mention several sighs of disbelief and contempt.
But again, I'd be willing to look past such a problem if the movie had went balls-to-the-wall with some real horror tension. Not the case, at all. This is the most dreadfully dull horror film I've seen in many a moon, even tougher to sit through than Alex Aja's disgraceful Mirrors. Shit was so painful, I found myself growing tired of ogling over Ms. Odette Yustman, and that's a fucking blasphemic feeling.
See what I mean? How could any many heterosexual man deny their eyes of this?
And don't even get me started on one especially heinous moment of monumentally-poor "suspension of basic time principles" stupidity. Okay, I can't resist. [SPOILER ALERT] So Yustman and Meagan Good are chatting via Instant Messenger webcam, right. And Yustman warns Good that Jumby is going to kill her loved ones to get to her, including Ms. Good, but Good is a bimbo and ignores this warning. Instead, she goes downstairs to answer the doorbell, which happens to have been rung by Jumby-occupying-the-body-of-a-butt-ugly-kid who proceeds to stalk and stab Good all the back upstairs. Realizing that murder is afoot at Good's house, Yustman calls her tool of a boyfriend and orders him to meet her at Good's house immediately in hopes of saving Good. Now, mind you, three seconds after Good answers the door, which is seven seconds after pausing her webcam chat with Yustman (who is back at her own house, which isn't next door to Good's), Yustman and her boy-toy are already at Good's house to the rescue. Any attempt at comprehending or logically explaining this lapse of time-travel has made me want to slam my cranium into the nearest wall, so I've decided to just give up and hate this movie even more.
The Unborn sucks. Odette Yustman is likeable and beautiful, but that's not enough.
The Unborn? More like Still Born. Get it? How about, The Abortion? **Slapping my knee** I guarantee you that at least five film critics will use that joke in their own reviews. Check Rotten Tomatoes in a week to see for yourself.
Kate Hudson, getting her Scar Jo on.....me, getting a ___ on (do the math)
As you can tell by the tags.....spotted over at: Perez Hilton (yes, I read his site....wanna fight about it?)
No question, Kate Hudson's always been cute. But these pics from the new issue of Elle are something else. Dare I say, she's fuckin' fierce here. Like, seriously tickling my fancy. Who knew, eh?
No question, Kate Hudson's always been cute. But these pics from the new issue of Elle are something else. Dare I say, she's fuckin' fierce here. Like, seriously tickling my fancy. Who knew, eh?
Watchmen trailer, number 736. Or something like that.
Though, this new Japanese one is by far my favorite to date.
The stuff with The Comedian's involvement in the JFK assassination, awesome. The Tricky Dick Nixon war room, campy yet cool.
If the Fox studio's lawsuit forces the film's March 6 release to be pushed back, I'm organizing a nerds'-only riotous march to their offices, waving firearms and knives, each of us dressed as Rorschach. Hrrmmmms, all around.
The stuff with The Comedian's involvement in the JFK assassination, awesome. The Tricky Dick Nixon war room, campy yet cool.
If the Fox studio's lawsuit forces the film's March 6 release to be pushed back, I'm organizing a nerds'-only riotous march to their offices, waving firearms and knives, each of us dressed as Rorschach. Hrrmmmms, all around.
Maybe I can start getting excited about the music again?
Not that either of these songs is particularly stellar or anything. They're simply "strong," and will sound good in quality speakers, like these dudes' vintage records used to bump. Just that, both give me that excitable feeling I once had when superstars delivered the expected-yet-always-welcome goods. Plus, a 2009 Aftermath revival/takeover wouldn't be a bad thing, at all.
Eminem w/ Dr. Dre and 50 Cent - "Crack A Bottle!"
50 Cent - "I Get It In" (Youtube doesn't have an embeddable audio of this one yet, but as soon as it does I'll toss it on here....but trust me, if you haven't heard it yet, it's pretty tough)
Eminem w/ Dr. Dre and 50 Cent - "Crack A Bottle!"
50 Cent - "I Get It In" (Youtube doesn't have an embeddable audio of this one yet, but as soon as it does I'll toss it on here....but trust me, if you haven't heard it yet, it's pretty tough)
I'm giving Mr. Romero ONE more chance....
....but this new promo trailer sends insecure shivers down my spine, spine-tingling shots of impending failure.
On repeat viewings, Romero's Diary of the Dead improves only slightly. Still a letdown of large, unavoidable stature. This new one, as of now being referred to as ...of the Dead (seriously), abandons Diary's whole handheld-camera-footage asthetic (wisely), but the acting here seems worse than Diary's atrocious output, which is just sad.
But this is merely promo, not official, so jury's out and about, twiddling thumbs and tapping toes (it's Alliteration Week, kiddies). But if this one sucks, I'm vowing to never watch a new George A. Romero zombie flick again. Three great ones was plenty, sir. Now, step away from the undead, and drop your camera.
***UPDATE: Said promo footage has been yanked from Youtube, unfortunately. But, all good. In its place, here's my fave chunk from Romero's Day of the Dead instead. The sea of zombies coming off that platform = an iconic image in my mind.
***BONUS
Saw this over at Film Drunk earlier, and deemed it worthy of attributed swiping. Dude at Film Drunk kills it with his Photoshop skills on a daily basis, and this one had me projectile giggling.
On repeat viewings, Romero's Diary of the Dead improves only slightly. Still a letdown of large, unavoidable stature. This new one, as of now being referred to as ...of the Dead (seriously), abandons Diary's whole handheld-camera-footage asthetic (wisely), but the acting here seems worse than Diary's atrocious output, which is just sad.
But this is merely promo, not official, so jury's out and about, twiddling thumbs and tapping toes (it's Alliteration Week, kiddies). But if this one sucks, I'm vowing to never watch a new George A. Romero zombie flick again. Three great ones was plenty, sir. Now, step away from the undead, and drop your camera.
***UPDATE: Said promo footage has been yanked from Youtube, unfortunately. But, all good. In its place, here's my fave chunk from Romero's Day of the Dead instead. The sea of zombies coming off that platform = an iconic image in my mind.
***BONUS
Saw this over at Film Drunk earlier, and deemed it worthy of attributed swiping. Dude at Film Drunk kills it with his Photoshop skills on a daily basis, and this one had me projectile giggling.
Monday, January 5, 2009
Jack Ketchum strikes (another literary victory) again.....
Started this one yesterday morning; just finished it about 30 minutes ago. If not errand-handling yesterday and pesky money-earning today, I'd have finished this one much quicker.
Jack Ketchum has officially become the tops, author-wise. The stories keep getting better, gorier, scarier, more extreme. This dude is a master at bringing otherworldly horrors into everyday reality. The Lost is still his best, to me, in terms of overall effect. But Off Season is paced at triple time, striking sharper and more often.
Off Season's "sequel," Offspring, shall be cracked open tomorrow morning on the good ol' PATH train. Could very well be ran through by Wednesday afternoon.
After Offspring, it'll be time to delve pupils-first into the compiled works of both Ray Bradbury and H.P. Lovecraft.
It's a self-imposed genre fiction workshop from here on out, punk mutha suckers.
Jack Ketchum has officially become the tops, author-wise. The stories keep getting better, gorier, scarier, more extreme. This dude is a master at bringing otherworldly horrors into everyday reality. The Lost is still his best, to me, in terms of overall effect. But Off Season is paced at triple time, striking sharper and more often.
Off Season's "sequel," Offspring, shall be cracked open tomorrow morning on the good ol' PATH train. Could very well be ran through by Wednesday afternoon.
After Offspring, it'll be time to delve pupils-first into the compiled works of both Ray Bradbury and H.P. Lovecraft.
It's a self-imposed genre fiction workshop from here on out, punk mutha suckers.
Sunday, January 4, 2009
I must own these. Oh yes, these must be mine.....
Saving the necessary cash up. Placing the necessary special orders at Barnes and Noble, as soon as possible.
Slowly but surely, I think I'm finding my true calling....
Let's hope I'm on the mark.....
"That's the sound of the director giving up and leaving."
A simply amazing episode. Actually had to pause it a few times to catch my breath from laughing so hard.
I always wonder how movies as astonishingly awful as these are actually made (whoa, Matt...alliteration, much?), with earnestness and verve. But then I remember that without them there'd be no MST3K, and then I smile.
So now you know....
Courtesy of: Shock Til You Drop
I have an awfully good feeling about My Bloody Valentine 3D...great gory, sleazy, T&A-heavy, 1980s-throwback times seem to be in place. Plus, I've never experienced the whole "3D glasses in a movie theater" gimmick before, and I can't think of a better way to give it a go than with pick-axes flying at my face and boobies bouncing around. Just makes perfect sense.
I've gotten a sense, however, that too many are unaware that its in fact a remake of a 1981 slasher from Canada, obviously titled My Bloody Valentine. In the canon of low-grade, post-Halloween-and-Friday-the-13th slashers, My Bloody Valentine stands as a better-than-given-credit-for bit of debauch. And what's even cooler is that Lionsgate is re-releasing an uncensored DVD this month, timed with the remake, that includes extended moments of blood and guts previously unseen. Awesome. I will have to buy.
Here's a trailer, spotted over at Shock Til You Drop (as already disclosed), for the original's new DVD treatment. Which should help familiarize those not friendly with it, before you (potentially) see the remake in two weeks.
I have an awfully good feeling about My Bloody Valentine 3D...great gory, sleazy, T&A-heavy, 1980s-throwback times seem to be in place. Plus, I've never experienced the whole "3D glasses in a movie theater" gimmick before, and I can't think of a better way to give it a go than with pick-axes flying at my face and boobies bouncing around. Just makes perfect sense.
I've gotten a sense, however, that too many are unaware that its in fact a remake of a 1981 slasher from Canada, obviously titled My Bloody Valentine. In the canon of low-grade, post-Halloween-and-Friday-the-13th slashers, My Bloody Valentine stands as a better-than-given-credit-for bit of debauch. And what's even cooler is that Lionsgate is re-releasing an uncensored DVD this month, timed with the remake, that includes extended moments of blood and guts previously unseen. Awesome. I will have to buy.
Here's a trailer, spotted over at Shock Til You Drop (as already disclosed), for the original's new DVD treatment. Which should help familiarize those not friendly with it, before you (potentially) see the remake in two weeks.
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