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Wednesday, January 8, 2014

A Death by DVD Book?

  A selection of excerpts from the forth coming Death by DVD review book soon in print as well as downloads for various devices.

  This book will be about cult and horror films throughout the years, and it runs on a very basic system that I'll explain to you now.  The films have typical one to four star reviews represented by * for 1 star to **** for four stars.  Since cult films can have a wide variety of interest to different people, the films also have "Cult Points" to show how cult worthy some of these can be.  Cult points run from 1 to 5.  So basically some films can have 0 stars because they are terrible films, but can earn cult classic status for being so weird they're enjoyable.

  Example:  Dawn of the Dead 1978 - **** and 5(CP)  Fucking awesome movie as well as being a cult film.  Plan 9 from Outer Space - (0 stars) and 5(CP) Shitty movie but a cult classic none the less.  Or you can go so far as this piece of shit:  House of the Dead (0 stars) and 0(CP).

  It's a pretty basic system and for those of you saying "This is a hell of a lot like the Deep Red Gore Score,"  well those people are correct actually.  It's pretty much pilfered from that, but with it's own sort of joie de vivre.  If you don't understand the rating system, you'll pick up on it soon enough, and if you don't then fuck you I don't have time to hold your hand like your mother did when the first appearance of E.T. scared the shit out of you.  I have puppies I should be bottle feeding right now.

10 To Midnight 
1983
*** and 5(CP)

Chuck Bronson is the man.  That is all you need to know, but since I like hearing myself talk I’ll continue.  Chuck is a cop who is on the trail of a serial killer who prefers to kill in the nude with his cock bouncing around.  Guy stabs women that insulted him, all the while providing himself with air tight alibis.  After the pantsless killer gets too close to Chuck’s daughter, it gets personal as it always does with Chuck.  Classic “Thriller” that has Chuck saying great lines like “You know what this is don’t ya?  It’s for jacking off isn’t it!?!”  Or “I Hate quiesce.”  Why’d you get it?  “I thought it was pie.  Cole slaw makes me want to puke.”  Claims to be a retelling of the Richard Speck story, but only because he kills some nurses in the process.  Highly Recommended For Chuck Bronson fans.  With Andrew Stevens and Geoffrey Lewis.



The Chilling
1989
(0) and 3(CP)

Dan (Grizzly Adams) Haggerty checks out of rehab to star in this no-budget direct to video zombie popsicle movie.  The freezers break down at the local Cryogenics lab unleashing foil wrapped zombies donned in blue Halloween masks.  This thing is just cheap from start to finish.  You don’t buy any of the plot, nor the acting.  Mainly just an exercise in shuffling around extras and keeping the star away from the pharmaceutical craft service table. With Linda Blair and Troy Donahue.



Can’t Stop the Music
1980
(0) and 5(CP)
 
Could be the gayest musical of all time, and that’s saying something.  Steve (Police Academy) Guttenburg plays the manager of a disco group played by the Village People.  Many questionable musical numbers and full frontal male nudity which is confusing for a PG rated film. You can take comfort in the fact that everyone involved was high on cocaine during the entire process of shooting this movie.  A disco movie for the disco generation...and most of them are dead.  

 


Meet the Feebles
1989
 *** and 5(CP)

Long before Academy Awards and Hobbit potty training came Peter Jackson’s second film about a Muppet like TV show and how the Muppets are real life people with drug problems, sexual addictions, and huge huge egos.  Caused a stir at the time for being a movie starring puppets for adults. Infamous scenes of violence, a walrus fucking a cat, a rabbit with AIDS, crucified Kermit Jesus, s&m between a roach and a cow and a jaw dropping musical number titled Sodomy.  Pretty fucking wacked out shit.  It may not be an Orc style epic, but worth a look just for shits and giggles.





Shallow Ground
2004
**½ and 2(CP)

A shot on video cheap-o film that actually tries to have a story for once.  After finding a blood soaked naked boy in the woods, the town sheriff beings to unravel a murder mystery that is covering the nation.  The gist is, naked bloody people begin to show up everywhere.  They are not solid matter,
but just made of blood and memories.  They are all the blood that has been spilled due to violent acts now returning to exact their revenge.  Not anything revolutionary, but it has a hell of an original story.  The acting could be a bit better, but it's fucking Shakespeare compared to many of the cheap-o’s on the market. A few henky CGI effects now and then, but just close your eyes and say “I do believe in computers, I do believe in computers.”




Little Corey Gory
1993
1/2 and 2(CP)

I don’t know where this movie came from, but I guess you could call it a snuff film in that none of these people were ever seen again.  Corey Gory moves to a new town with his douche bag brother and his fat drunk mother.  Billy likes a girl at school.  She’s looks like a Poison video extra i.e she's kind of a whore.  He promises her Ozzy tickets.  After he buy the tickets, his brother steals them, takes the girl and makes Corey smell his finger.  After struggling with his brother, Corey knocks him into
the glass shower which in turn cuts off his brother's arm after no immediate injuries are apparent (the only funny thing in the film).  He ties his mom to the couch and starves her while the whore and he
look for a pound of coke his brother was suppose to have (A pound?  That’s a lot of coke for this
with trash guy.).  Corey ends up killing a few more people, having a wild party, and blaming the
whole thing on his recently freed mother who tries to stab him.  That’s your payoff.  This thing could possibly be more white trash than Roadhouse, the test results are still out on it though.  Everyone in it looks like they are in between their next Herpes breakout.  The walls are covered in grime and shit.  Far as I can tell, these aren’t sets.  These are real locations with real white trash actors.  Pretty fucking lame.  



Grim
1995
 * and 2(CP)

Big rubber troll lives in tunnels under some British condos.  Yuppies go into the caverns and investigate.  Needless to say, some get turned to troll poo.

Hell even I want to sue
Evils of the Night
1985
 ½ and 2CP


Mardi Rustam, the producer of Tobe Hooper’s Eaten Alive, directs this murky movie about your typical space vampires.  Human looking aliens, in their best Adidas track suits, steal the blood from teens so that they can make their space booze.  I'm assuming it's booze as Neville Brand is involved.  This movie stars a few of Hollywood’s forgotten children, although you can’t tell considering all the prints of this movie look like they were filmed at the bottom of the Mississippi River.  Works as a 1950's piece of goofy sci-fi film, trouble is it was made in 1985.  Strangely enough, no Aldo Ray. 




The Crippled Masters
1979
 ** and 5(CP)

The kung fu duo you’ve been waiting a lifetime and a half to see.  Two men are chopped and burned with acid making them crippled and disgraced.  The leave their respective villages only to meet and learn karate from a classic old master.  Now they have the skills to pay the bills, it’s revenge time on the rice paddy tonight.  This thing makes a tiny chunk of vomit rise in my throat every time I see it.  One of the masters has no legs.  I take that back.  He has legs, they are just as thin, gross and atrophied as pipe cleaners.  The other master is missing his arms, with the exception of a little nub he  twirls his fighting stick with. F.asjkldffhsdlaff...Sorry I got a little bit of puke in the key board thinking about it.  The guy with no legs twirls around on his hands hitting people with his dangling useless appendages.  No arms kicks a hell of a lot of the time until he get’s out that staff and proceeds to make me sick to my stomach.  It’s your classic kung-fu movie with an insane twist.   
 

Super Fuzz (aka Super Snooper)
1980
** and 4(CP)

You better love the opening credits song as it's the only score in the whole film.  Hey, I can get down with the disco.  Italian man is inexplicably a Miami based cop granted super powers when a nuclear missile blows up in his face while he is trying to serve a summons in a wigwam.  The only problem is his powers go away when he sees the color red.  So you know for a fact he's never earned his "red wings." Painfully stupid Italian gag comedy containing all the dumb reverse film fight scenes and poor dubbing we've all come to know and love.  Terence Hill is always likeable and keeps the mood light with his typical deer in headlights Rocky from Rocky Horror type performance.  With Ernest Borgnine acting like my drunk uncle.



Wednesday, October 9, 2013

A Brazilian That Won't Make Your Asshole Bleed

by I. Alexander Nash

   Brazil is a country not typically known for their horror films.  They do in fact have a fairly rich history for producing fright films and the like.  What people commonly associate with Brazilian horror is the stellar Coffin Joe series.  Coffin Joe is a diabolical mortician type character created by director/actor/writer José Mojica Marins.  He starred in a few films focusing on the character of Coffin Joe himself and went on to become a horror and media icon for Brazil.  He's been in movies, hosted tv shows and I wouldn't be surprised if he starred on a couple of lunch boxes as well.  A horror icon that will be remembered for years and years to come.  Trouble with all of this is, we aren't here to talk about Coffin Joe.  Sadly we are here to talk about a lesser entry in the Brazilian horror market and even a hell of a lot lesser in the world market.  God, do I wish we were talking about Joe because...well, there's actually information available on him.  We are going to discuss a director who made a very small bloody splash in horror from 1989 to 1990, Fauzi Mansur.

  When I went to do research on this guy I quickly discovered there is not much research to be done.  As it turns out most any information on Mansur is predominately featured on websites in fucking Portuguese.  Since I don't fucking speak Portuguese, and most of the world doesn't either, I will just be giving you the information as I see it, which isn't much.  The main reason we're talking about Mansur is because he created two films that have been notorious over the years.  Notorious for being incredibly rare and extremely gory.  Notice I didn't say "good" in that sentence.  From what I can gather from different resources Mansur was primarily a porn director over the years, with such winning entries in that genre as  "O Inseto do Amor," "Sexo Animal," as well as "AIDS, Furor do Sexo Explícito."  Swell sounding guy.  Pretty sure he needs to be involved in Toy Story 5, but don't quote me on that as I don't want to end up on any more websites.  I'm thinking Fauzi wanted to open up to a wider audience than something like "Sexo Animal" could bring him, so he took the next logical step into the horror field.  He did so with the two films Ritual of Death and Satanic Attraction.

  The way my attention was brought to these films was through early VHS bootleg catalog ordering.  I was a huge fan of the work of horror author/reviewer/artist Chas. Balun.  Balun had made mentioned of these two films several times through the years.  His reviews were less than glowing on Mansur's films but he always made mention of the fact that they were gory as hell (or as Chas. would always put it "Certified Chunk Blowers").  Chas and I didn't always see eye to eye on some films, but without question Balun was not wrong about these.  For years I tried to track these movies down; even at the point when movies became readily available on the internet, Mansur's cinema genocides were always elusive.  Now that everything, and I do stress EVERYTHING, is available on the internet I finally was able to obtain my own copies of these sort of could pass as films.  They were so not worth the wait.  Kinda like waiting to get married before you plow your wife for the first time.  You really should have just got that drunk weeping handjob from her sister at the wedding, cause it was going to happen years later anyway.  Enough yacking about me and my crimes.  Mansur!   

Weren't you in The Horror Show with Lance Henriksen?
     The first thing you notice about Ritual of Death are the opening credits where the "Indians" are credited to the BSG company.  So, apparently they had to rent some natives to show up in this shit.  Ritual Of Death revolves around a local group of way off off off Broadway (considering it's Brazil I would say that's a little further away than the Lower Eastside) actors visiting a history lecture where they learn about how their rented indigenous people were all influenced by the Egyptian's and stole all their magic tricks like 12th century Cris Angels.  They learn that there is an evil book containing all of these rituals because Mansur had recently seen Evil Dead.  Brad...wait...this Brazilian dude who doesn't speak a lick of English is named Brad?  You know how I know he speaks English like Borat?  Simple, everyone is fucking dubbed.  And dubbed like shit.  Although I will say if this thing was subtitle it would be so much harder of a sit.  So Brad...ahem...Brad is told by one of the head honchos named Jim...whatever.  Jim tells fucking Brad that they need to steal this book so they can use the rituals in their new performance to make it more authentic.  Listen, I've seen bits of their play and the only thing that's going to authenticate it might be some acting classes cause these twats act like giraffes fuck, awkwardly.  Brad  has a hallucination of this ritual performed and is approached by a man right out of a René Magritte painting, who has melty goo spewing hands.  After snapping back into reality, Brad steals the book and shit immediately hits their safety deficient wind machine.  Jim and some casting couch bimbo play naked keep away with a severed goats head in a blood filed bathtub.  And I'm assuming that has something to do with the ritual(?)  It either that or they're both just huge Island of Death fans. Brad gets an intense craving for raw meat like he's Grant Grant from Slither, as well as a bunch of Frogs inhabiting his room obviously mistaking him for Ray Milland.  One night Brad wakes from a cold sweat and starts to get an extreme case of pizza face that makes him melt and causes him to look like Brion James in the poster art.

Yeah I've seen The Fly too.
    This is where Ritual of Death disposes of a niceties and earns it's 10 on the vomit score board (I don't know how to read the numbers on it myself).  During a dress rehearsal, Brad dons the outfit from Bloody Pit of Horror and nearly strangles his mistress.  Attempted murder charges not withstanding, Brad runs off to begin his service in the Ritual of Death...which basically amounts to him walking around with a chain like George the Animal Steal and perpetrating several greasy murders.  Which never really accounts for the part where he spews green foam like he's Warren from Class of Nuke'em High.  See Jim wanted to bring his uncle (the for mentioned apple-less Magritte) and cult leader back from the dead.  Apparently he needs a living body to inhabit, which never explains why Brad is turning people into Alpo left and right even doing a Fulci to Jim's face.  Question, do eyeballs float?  I guess it's best not to question physics in a Mansur film.

No one expects the Spanish Inquisition!! 
   What we are all here for anyway are the not so elaborate yet visceral killings.  The murder count:  we have Jim's eyes being turned into bath time buddies; a stabbing where she is inexplicably run over by a train wheel; an attempted and botched knife deep throating; a girl eviscerated by a claw hammer; a bloodless chain choking; a fake out of being ground up by the wind machine but then run over and bisected by it only then to have the next character have acid thrown in his face and then cut in half by the wind machine; and a bevy of zombie type bodies poly-bagged like Spider-Man issue 1.  The kills in this movie are where it's at.  It certainly isn't craftsmanship or the white goo that pours out of Brad's head at the drop of a severed hand.  I just won't pay to see white goo now.  I can make my own white goo, there's no need in spending hard earned dollars on it.  The kills are the star and the kills alone.  This is not cinema as art but cinema as commerce.  I don't mind it too much either.  It may be uneven and fucked up as a solid piece of film making, but can be entirely enjoyable as an exploitation shit fest.  Ignore the story and ignore the acting.  It's kinda like watching Romano Scavolini's Nightmare.  You're there to see some blood, tits and the occasional bit of pig guts.  This shit delivers hand over fist...but still manages to be a incredibly long watch.   Totally lacking in any socially redeeming value.

Does this make me look fat?


Fauzi Mansur has to be a huge Venom fan.
    The next movie Fauzi (or Fozzie Bear if you're a Furry) did for the horror genre is a lovely bit of family entertainment named Satanic Attraction.  This movie has even less of a distinguishable plot than Ritual of Death.  I think maybe somebody's word processor got the first Black Sabbath and Slayer albums spilled on it before finally printing out a mess of a script complete with sprocket holes.  We open with a bunch of random shots of people doing blood rituals in goat masks only to reveal little blonde Aryan children locking bloody wrists.  We cut to years later where a radio DJ recites the story of a mad slasher killing random people for their blood to resurrect his dead sister that he truly wants to fuck.  Wouldn't you know it, that's exactly what's happening in the film.  A guy (who must have thought he was in an Argento film due to his black leather gloves and suit) runs around dismantling people in creative ways so that his deceased love may live again, all the while the dumbest blonde (even dumber than Jessica Simpson, Britney Spears and Billy Zabka combined) DJ improvs the exact same story over the open waves...why isn't she immediately arrested?  Sure, the cops eventually interview her, but she has an alibi.  Still, alibi or not, if this bitch has all the details without being prompted you arrest that ass.  No, they just immediately buy into this bullshit psychic business, plus they're just happy people are listening to the radio again(?)  Shit her husband turns up dead halfway through the movie!  Why is this bitch not in cuffs?  They arrested Chong simply for owning that one bong...making factory.  

Which came first, the Bava or the egg?
   DJ Dumb Maus tends to have tons of dreams about some lady in rubber corpse makeup stalking her, but that's okay as it actually is a character running around in rubber corpse makeup.  So, at least that bit of shittiness pays off for them.  The rubber rotter is pretending to be the guy who's doing the killings sister to encourage him...or something.  This movie is vague as shit.  Questions are never answered.  Mysticism is thrown around at the drop of a hat to explain away all these things but is never explained itself.  Hell even their big reveal at the end isn't a big reveal as you can't differentiate one person's face from another.  But I guess if you need a mastermind fingered here than I'll tell you...Oh Hi it's you again Brad.  This one guy is doing the killings cause fucking Brad tricked him into doing it.  There that's all I fucking know.  I'm not trying to withhold information here, I simply don't have it.  I mean why would they have to trick this guy into doing the killings when he's in this murder cult anyway?  And why the hell does the murderer disappear at the end when he dies!?!  We just watch him dissolve out like he's Teddy Duchamp. Then some pregnant reporter has twins who I assume will grow up to wanna fuck each other like that dark episode of the Suite Life with Zak and Cody.  It's not a whodunit as much as it is a whydunit which I've never encountered personally.  It just keeps going around in circles pointing the blame and reasons in different directions and at the end of the day the answer is the answer to every question that this sick world produces:  Satan.


You've got red on you.
  The real satanic attraction here are the copious amounts of blood and entrails that are spilled all in the name of Love, Incest Style shana na na na:  we have a girl stabbed and then bled into a bucket (don't forget her hacked of foot which is feed to a lion); the ol' razor blade in your bar of soap gag and then split in the head like Crazy Fat Ethel's sister's boyfriend; taking a page out of Friday the 13th part 2's playbook (which was Mario Bava's playbook to begin with) he gives the couple the two for one spear special; a dead body that gets the Miike foot treatment; eviscerated in a hammock only for her pig guts to get dirty with sand yuck; a fancy decapitation; stabbed through a door; neck harpooned; and my personal favorite pick axe in the My Bloody Valentine.  You so get your moneys worth on the kills with this one.  They are always bloody and prevalent.  Trouble is you have to sit through an nearly 120 minutes of dumb cop/dj/naval officer(?) talk to get there.   Fauzi may be shit with actors, although it is hard to direct someone whose talking with a cock not in their mouth, but he sure has a way of really throwing the blood around and making it somewhat interesting.  

I ain't got no bod...yes I do it's right there.
  These are truthfully bad movies, but they are so much fucking fun.  You don't have to pay attention the entire time.  Christ I would question your sanity if you did.  These are the kinds of movies that made 80's horror great. You could ignore it and pick the gist of it right back up.  If you didn't, it didn't matter as there was plenty to view anyway.  What spells the death of horror cinema is shaky lost footage found shit with a creepy kid that has a cgi altered giant black mouth and eyes.  You watch them once and forget them.  With something like the Fazui Mansur movies they do warrant repeat viewing if only to see slaughter house leftovers fly at your face.  The definition of a wet horror movie.  Fauzi returned to porn and never has made another horror film.  Sorry Fauzi I'd prefer seeing blood from you as apposed to semen.


Philip Nutman  1963-2013
Chas. Balun 1948-2009
The world will be truly dumber without them.




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Tuesday, October 1, 2013

First the Holocaust and now Ghost Muppets. Germany Hurts My Heart.

  by I.  Alexander Nash


  Roland Emmerich you delightful little cocksucker.  You have brought us so many great films and so much joy.  You gave us The Day After Tomorrow...well that one kinda sucked; but how about 10,000 B.C.?  Scratch that one too.  But who doesn't love Independence Day or the Patriot?  Well actually I don't like either of those movies.  Hmm.  How about Universal Soldier?  Okay, pretty shitty.  Godzilla?  Okay, so you've made pretty much all terrible movies that have gnoshed on my soul for the last 30 years causing me great pain and suffering.  Moon 44 wasn't half bad but that's like saying John Wayne Gacy wasn't too bad because he only killed 27 people instead of 30.  You're like the anti-Spielberg.  Where as Spielberg makes large budget special effects garbage films, he at least tries to impart some sort of character and soul into the movie.  He may be batting 50% but he at least tries.  You've tried to make those type of films for years and have continued to crap it up.  Did Jim Carey give you a bunch of Ex lax for trying to steal his woman and now you're shitting out so many awful films.  Too bad the toilet is broken in this case as well.

  Before Emmerich started spending 300 million to destroy half the planet per film, he brought to America his German version of childhood whimsy.  His premier American film was a little slice of insanity called Making Contact (aka Joey).  Making Contact contains probably the creepiest squat ventriloquist dummy ever registered on film all wrapped into a less than tidy E.T. style package.  More about that film later as we are discussing his second foray into American films with supposed family film Hollywood Monster or Ghost Chase as it's know in America.

The cast of Fraggle Rock falls on hard times.
Even in German the movie sounds fucking stupid

  The film opens with it's Mannequin inspired credits sequence only to immediately tease your cock with a scene from Night of the Living Dead.  Terrible idea for a start.  As soon as I saw that I took it out of the player and cued up Night.  Killed it real early there Roland.  After procrastinating and watching Night three times I, against better judgement, went back into Ghost Chase.  It's so disgustingly 80's.  It takes you a good five minutes to focus on anything besides the sunglasses, jams and bomber jackets.  We meet our leads, Jason Lively who played Chris in Night of the Creeps and Rusty in European Vacation as well as Jill Whitlow who played Cynthia in Night of the Cree...hey!  You completely raided and stole both leads from Night of The Creeps.  Eject.  Okay, back to Ghost Chase after watching Night of the Creeps two times.  Our favorite homecoming couple and their buddy who looks like Zack Morris are a trio of would be small time film makers who apparently use sweatshop employed children as their film crew.  The Keystone kids are having money problems and can't finish their film.  I don't see how they are having money troubles (as apposed to Monkey Troubles which means your being stalked by a Gypsy Harvey Keitel.  frightening) as Bayside High's most bleached student is apparently a god damn mechanical genius decking their home out in the latest Pee Wee Herman technology.  Get an engineering job Zack, Kelly Kapowski needs an Esprit shopping spree.

Time out!
  It just so happens, as these things do, Clark's favorite son has inherited a clock and a bunch of left over photos from Ken Burn's Civil War.  Through much dribbled shat out dialog and a Making Contact inspired dream sequence, we discover his grandfather was a rich old bastard who had his odd looking butler wall him into his mansion basement with all of his money 60 years ago and after creating the final set from Legend of Hellhouse, the butler died next to the clock.  Oh, that's a great name for a Hardy Boys story, The Butler Who Died Next to the Clock.  Too bad I'm only 40 years too late for that one.  And since you are not all complete retards and had your 5 hour energy shots chased with Red Bull you should be able to figure out the ghost of the butler now lives inside the clock.  Mr. Belding's nemesis wakes from his dream to craft a script based on this idea.  Not a great idea kid as I am currently watching a film based on these concepts and I can already tell you it blows.  Alright time for an 80's montage!  The kids start prepping the new idea by first  avoiding John Madden's bloated ass and stealing a bunch of shit from ACE hardware.  Good move Roland, encourage shop lifting in your children's film.  I wish Randy Quaid encouraged you to reenact the ending from Independence Day. 

I think Roland Emmerich was warning us about a future franchise he was going to ruin.

   Simultaneously a plot develops as the head of a movie studio, played by Paul "Dick Vernon" Gleason, wants the clock for his own nefarious purposes. You see his father pulled a little bit of a Glenn Gary style swindle on old gramp's house and built a movie studio around the mansion.  How Chief Robinson figured out the spirit of the butler, and therefore the only person who knows where the money is, lives in the clock is beyond fucking me.  He just knows...and hopes to God that wasn't a hostage.  The kids apparently fucked with the bull so Gleason sends out his German goon to retrieve the clock.

Are we not men?

   Screech's hero (and yes these Saved by the Bell references will continue and get even thicker) decides to build an animatronic version of the butler for the film using his stolen goods.  I mean really just get a job in special effects kid.  Why the hell are you so poor when you can create Stan Winston magic from your very own V.R. rocket power chair?  It's really just poor planning on your part.  What I never understand is why the hell make the butler this very strange green Terrahawks reject.  Even his animated ghost looks like this puppet.  Doing research for this write up, it seems everyone believes that this butler is some kind of alien ghost or some such nonsense.  There is never a mention of aliens in this movie.  So doing the math:  2 + 2= you fucked up.  With the addition of this bizarre British accented Muppet they have confused the whole plot to the point where 30 years later audiences are still confused.  Whatever.  I guess I'm just splitting crepe hairs here.  The ghost, named Louis, possess the puppet and watches more Night of the Living Dead....(breaths heavily) this movie is destroying my copy of Night...good thing I have nine more copies in reserve.  Louis informs our characters of the full plot of the movie, good thing he came in to save the script writers from the dreaded exposition monster.  Now the ghost chase is on...whatever that means.

Tom Atkins is looking fucking rough.

  The kids get involved in many hi jinx culminating in a treasure hunt in the soon to be destroyed mansion were the money is buried (and let me tell you the explosion of this house is the least impressive effect since those claymation scenes in Night Train to Terror).  There's a ghost sword fight, some torture devices as well as another leftover scene from Making Contact towards the end of the film.   If it seems we've gotten to the end rather quickly, you're not alone.  This whole movie is so plot heavy at the beginning that when we get to the end it feels as abrupt as the ending to Saved by the Bell:  The College Years (I told you it was coming).  It takes forever for them to lay out the plot of this movie that when we finally get there it seems completely from left field and rushed.  It seems like such a huge task getting at this money but when we finally get there they just get the money without many problems.  It's like a ten minute scene.  With something like this where you have so much build up to this goal you're just expecting some grandiose finale and what you get are the final moments of Land of the Dead.  The only thing they really do is try to instill some sort of drama when they inevitably kill off Louis.  Jessie Spano's neighbor get's all fucking teary and I guess the audience is suppose to as well.  Hahaha.  Ah Roland, when are you ever going to learn that German's have no emotions?  Is that a racial slur?   Oh well then fuck it.   The kids get a shit ton of money and Gleason get's the boot.  They take over the studio conceivably to make Zach and Kelly's Vegas Wedding Special.  And oh shit, little mister green genes shows up driving the limo at the end.  He didn't die after all. Yay! I'm so happy I could shit.

Sodomy is very very much apart of me!

  This movie is fucking ridiculous.  It's a kids movie with no humor for kids and certainly nothing for adults, unless those certain adults have recently experienced horrible brain trauma.  It really is a movie without an audience which is why it has remained so obscure over the years.  It tanked when it came out, and it continues to tank as some lost piece of film treasure.  I'm just glad when it came time for me to dig it out from it's crypt I didn't have to ask the Hobgoblin's illegitimate father for directions.



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Sunday, September 22, 2013

Rolling Thunder. Now here is a fucking movie

by Hank (oldirtyhank) Sawyer



Rolling Thunder. Now here is a fucking movie. It’s not trash, it’s not grindhouse, it’s a mother fucking put this bitch on a shrine and worship it movie.

You’ve got the 70’s sleaze, and a country that’s still angry over Vietnam, and hey what could be better?

Apocalypse Now? That sold, angst, drama, depression, horror, brutality, oh man Apocalypse Now just put in a level of concrete for the war film. Since WWII there hadn’t been a masterpiece (The Green Berets? Fuck you, John Wayne)

But wait, this little movie.. You’ve got this guy, this bad-ass, held in a POW camp (him and John Mccain shared their own piss pina coladas believe it or not) comes back home, back to home of the brave land of the free, the good ol U.S of mother fuckin A, and his old lady? Yeah she’s banging another dude.

Does he give a shit? No.

Why? He’s been in Ho Chi Minhn’s Hilton. This mother fucker can’t even go to bed without re-living some of the torture, pain, nightmares that he sat and lived though. So what does he do? He takes it like a fucking man, puts his weight on it and deals.

he deals.
But hey, who wants to hear about an American soldier with Post Traumatic Stress (You guys would rather hear about Miley Cyrus twerking I know don’t get lost)


So in this weird old fashioned thing we used to celebrate the men and women that served, died, or were held as prisoner. The town throws this cat a ceremony, he gets some sweet “swag” (oh boy, swag!”) for his time in hell.

And low and behold, some daft sister fisting assholes decide they oughta claim that over him. So, long story short, let’s get to the chase.

This guy, Major Charles Rane, his family is murdered. Wife and kid, killed by these sleaze-bag greasy shits, and he gets his fuckin hand stuffed down a garbage unit. Ya know what he does? He gets a claw hand, sharpens it, saws off a shot gun and calls in his number one. His brother from another mother. 

And ya know what they do? They Roll some fucking Thunder.




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Monday, August 26, 2013

555...the horror, the horror, the hor...

by I. Alexander Nash


   My house...shit; I'm still only at my house...Every time I think I'm gonna wake up reviewing a movie.  I'd wake up and there'd be nothing. I hardly said a word to my wife, until I said "yes" to a microwave pizza. When I was here, I wanted to be there; when I was there, all I could think of was getting back to reviewing movies. I'm here a week now... waiting for an assignment... getting softer. Every minute I stay in this room, I get weaker, and every minute someone on youtube uploads a video, he gets stronger. Each time I looked around the walls moved in a little tighter.  I proceeded to get wasted on cheap whiskey and dance around in my underwear while Nena whales about their 99 Luft Balloons.  I quickly punch a mirror to get back in touch with reality.  God do I miss Emilio.  I collapse on the floor never feeling lower in my life.  The wife finds me naked and crying; never feeling less sexually attracted to me.  The assignment is here.  Everyone gets everything they want.  I wanted an assignment, and for my sins they gave me one.  They brought it too me like room service...I never did get that microwave pizza though.  It was a real choice assignment and when it was over I'd never want another.  I was gonna watch the worst movie in the world and I didn't even know it yet.  An hour and a half of the the stupidest shit committed to film all the way to the end.  It was no accident that I got to be the caretaker of the movie 555's story, no more than it was an accident that I was naked when they arrived in that room.  There is no way of telling it's story without telling my own.

  At first I thought they handed me the wrong dossier.  I couldn't believe they wanted this movie reviewed.  Shot on video.  No professional actors or film makers.  About a thousand bad reviews online.  I'd seen the clips on youtube and they really put a hook in me.  Like they said it was impressively bad.  Maybe too impressive...I mean perfectly shitty.  It was being totted as the worst thing ever shot on video.  It was buried for 25 years.  Why the fuck would they try to bring it back?  2013 it ends up my problem.


  There's a knock at my door.  It was my brother...my escort to the mouth of the Nung River...I mean the Mom and Pop Video Store where I would pick up the tape.  He wasn't suppose to be here for hours...that boy just couldn't stay put.  He had just traded in his Kubrick collection for the Complete Jess Franco box set, and gone tearing around video store to video store looking for the shit.  He looked at my wife laying in bed nauseated by sitting thru Wizards of Demon Sword.  He asked, "Hey what's this?  What is this?"  I replied "She's hurtin' pretty bad.  About the only thing holding her together are those pajamas.  She wants a glass of Kool Aid.  Dirty Twilight lover, she can drink puddle water."  He screamed back at me, "Get out of here!  Gimmie that Kool Aid.  Get outta here or I'll kick your fuckin' ass!  Any Twilight fan brave enough to sit through Fred Olen Ray can drink my Kool Aid any day."  My brother had had a pretty good day.  He made himself and some friends a couple of T-bones and beer; tried to turn The Phantom Menace into a screening party.  The more he tried to make it Empire Strikes Back, the more they missed it.  He wasn't a bad guy.  He was one of those guys that had a weird light around him.  You knew he wasn't gonna get so much as a scratch watching Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull.  He advised me that the particular video store we were going to was pretty hairy.  When I informed him that they had an uncut copy of Yor Hunter from the Future there he yelled, "Well why the hell didn't ya tell me that before?!?  There aren't any good Italian movies in this whole shitty town!  It's all goddamn Hollywood studio films!"  I informed him the fact that our friend Charlie had checked out that tape yesterday, he yelled back "Charlie don't know Reb Brown!"

  We got in his car where he proceeded to put a CD of Ride of the Valkyries in...which gave me a strange sense of deja vu.  This whole experience seems to have happened somewhere before...nah.  "Shall we dance?" he said as he tore ass down the roads as if he had a purpose.  Almost as if he were a colonel in some sort of pointless South East Asian war.  We drove faster than I'd ever been.  We cut off cars, burned rubber and other descriptive words you use when trying to describe driving crazy.  Once we got to the strip mall and the lady from the adjoining Chinese restaurant tried to set our car on fire, I knew we had arrived.  "Ok man, quit hiding.  Ok, let's go dickhead," he said.  We entered the double doors and walked through the shoplifter sensors.  He took a deep long breathe.  "You smell that?  Do you smell that?  Stale popcorn and cigarette smoke son.  Nothing else in the world smells like that.  I love the smell of stale popcorn in the morning.  The smell, you know that old dead feet smell, the whole video store.  Smelled like victory...no I mean failure.  It smells just like wasting your life watching shitty movies instead of getting laid or making friends.  Someday these video stores are gonna end."  Someday these video stores are gonna end.  That would be just fine with most people.  They weren't looking for more than a way to sit on their ass and watch things streaming from internet.  Trouble is I've been there and know that it will be the same 250 movies rotated over and over again.  It was seasons of your favorite shows, but only 30 movies pre-2003.  There was enough of that to go around for everyone. 

  I found 555 sitting on it's labeled shelf.  I stared at it's hot pink video cover; it stared back at me with it's cold calculating decapitation photo penetrating my dark heart...my heart of darkness so to speak.  I had no idea what I was getting into and no idea what it would turn me into.  I grabbed the tape and left.  Should have never got outta the car absolutely goddamn right.  I referred back to the dossier to learn more.

  555 was directed by Wally Koz in 1988.  It was his one and only venture into the film making business.  He split from the whole fucking program after that.  He got into gold mining soon after.  How did that happen?  What did he see when he made 555?  48 fucking years old.  If he joined the film industry he would never make it above shot on video.  Koz knew what he was giving up.  The more I read and began to understand, The more I admired him.  His family and friends couldn't understand it, they couldn't talk him out of it.  The next youngest guy on his gold claim was half his age.  They must have thought he was some far out old man panning for gold.  A tough mother fucker.  He could have gone for the million dollar gold score, but he went for himself instead.  The internet knew his name by now, and they were scared of him.  I read a letter Koz wrote his wife from the gold mine:

"Dear Linda,

I'm afraid that both you and my brother Roy (writer of 555) would have been worried for not hearing from me these past weeks.  But my situation here has become a difficult one.  I've been officially accused of cinema atrocities by the United Internet Critics Association.  The charges were unjustified.  They are in fact, under the circumstances, completely insane.  In film making there are many moments for compassion and tender action.  There are many moments for ruthless action, for what is often called ruthless, what may in many and many circumstances be the only clarity; seeing clearly what there is to be done and doing it directly, quickly, aware...looking at it.  I would trust you to tell my brother what you choose about this letter.  As for the charges, I'm unconcerned.  I'm beyond their timid, lying morality.  And so I'm beyond caring.

You have all my faith.

Your loving husband."   


  555 was close.  It was real close.  I couldn't watch it yet, but I could feel it.  As if this car was being pulled down this road.  Whatever was going to happen, it wasn't gonna be like they thought.  I read further as we arrived back at the house, never getting the full picture of what this movie was.  Plenty more happened on the trip back like a run in with some Playboy Bunnies, a bridge blowing up and a freak occurrence where we had dinner with some French people.  I'll just spare you the details as it really has no place in this review.  The whole French dinner thing really seemed out of place here or anywhere else and that's why it's been mostly omitted from this report.  I mean it was really pointless and didn't seem to have a purpose or a reason for being there like at all, so let us never speak of it again.

  My friend Hank was at my front door waving his hands and screaming, "It's all right!  It's all right!"  Hank was a scraggly bastard.  His long hair chopped his face in half like a kaleidoscope while his beard sagged to his chest giving him the appearance of war torn photojournalist aged years before his time.  He had spent his time with 555 and I think it changed him as a person forever.  I asked him about his experience with 555.

 "You don't watch 555 man, it watches you.  Once you've seen and experienced what it is and what you are, it'll turn around and slap you in the face begging you to question yourself.  Questions in your face saying do you know that 'if is the middle word in life?  If you can keep your head watching 555 while all those around you are losing theirs and blaming it on you, if you can trust yourself when all men doubt you .  I mean no, I can't. I'm a little man and that's one shitty movie."

  I go in the house to look at other reviews of this film.  After consulting the one thing 555 and Koz hated, the internet, I had found horrifying things.  Like severed heads used as decoration, all the previous reviewers of this film had gone completely crazy or had ended up dead.  I was a professional and come hell or high water I was going to complete my review, but all this had become unsettling like a Tom Six film.  I could feel the darkness creeping up on me and filling my soul with...well...black stuff.  Hank crept up behind startling me with a tap of my shoulder.  With calm and half lidded eyes he said, "The reviews, you're looking at the reviews, I uh...sometimes 555 goes too far you know...Wally Koz would be the first one to admit it."  I calmly replied, "You're drunk."   His expression burned a hole straight through me while he screamed, "Wrong!  Wrong!  If you could have just seen me yesterday while I was watching it!  You're gonna tell me I'm drunk?...alright fuck you I drunk as shit."

   Everything I saw told me that 555 drove men insane.  If I was still alive, it was because the movie wanted me that way.  I went into my room to put the dreaded tape into the player.  It smelled like slow death in there, boring plot line, shitty actors and production values, nightmares.  This was the end of my journey alright.   

   The shitty hot pink opening credits flickered in my minds eye.  The nightmare was beginning.  The film quality reminded me of war footage I've seen before.  Hap hazard and unprofessional...off the cuff.  It opens with a clumsily staged murder by a guy in a hippy wig and beard.  He's shirt gave me fits of seizure.  After chopping the head of the male of the naked and copulating couple, he stabbed the girl with a sacrificial dagger.  He pulls down his pants and mock humps her corpse.  The police arrive and the nightmare grows stronger.  Lots of shittily written police procedural dialog and bad jokes.  This can only take me further down the drain pipe deeper into hell.  We enter a pea soup green room and barely leave it for the full 90 minutes.  The cops blame an old war vet for the crimes but have no proof.  We introduce the D.A. and his female reporter girlfriend.  She's a total bitch.  I can barely stand to listen to her voice as it reverberates in my skull.  Plus she looks like my mother another reminder of how much I don't want to do this.  We get to another murder.  It's basically the exact same scene played in repeat.  I don't know if I can handle this.  They bring the same old Marine in for questioning, but can't peg him down.  The lady reporter decides to use her feminine whiles to get info on him.  These two old people proceed to make out as he unbuttons her shirt and...oh my god!  Is this 50 year old woman going to do a nude scene!?!  As he exposes her saggy breasts, I stop the tape and run outside to hide in the shed.




  Hank bolts outside to come and get me.  Not so much for the sake of being concerned as much as it is to see what has happened.  He twirls his beard and watches me rock back and forth in the fetal position.  The blackness is consuming me throughout.  "Dialectics.  It's very simple dialectics.  No maybes, no supposes,... no fractions...you can travel through space, you can't go out into spac..." I interrupt Hank, "What the fuck you talkin' about?"  He pauses  "Really dude I have no idea.  I polished off that bottle of SoCo about half an hour ago and I'm just spacin,  But there is one thing I can tell you, there's only love and hate, you either love a movie or you hate it!"  "Then I fucking hate it," answering him.  "You don't know that.  You didn't finish that movie man.  How do you know you hate it if you leave it hanging in the wind like an Arby's fart?"  I throw my shoe at him at this point.  "Is this the way it ends man!?!  Look at the fucking shit you're in!  And with that I'm fucking splitting Jack!"  Hank runs off into the woods only to resurface much later hooked on Nitrous asking hookers to call him Daddy I presume.  He was right though.  I had Arby's earlier that day and wouldn't let the same thing happen to 555.  It's judgement that defeats us. I put my big girl pants on and continued the film.


  Horror has a face and you must make a friend of horror...but not just yet. I fast forward to after Delta Burke puts away her fun bags.  As much as I thought there would be answers in completion, I was wrong.  The cops continue to spout bad dialog and harass Beetle Bailey about the crimes.  This is going nowhere.  everyone knows he's not the killer, but yet they continue the charade that this is a whodunit film.  Then  something happens.  One thing.  One thing happens in this entire film.  Another murder, this time with a top notch decapitation scene which shouldn't surprise me as it is the box cover imagery of the film.  Thank god for tiny horrors.  The cops figure out that he kills on the fifth month killing five people for five days for a tiny explanation of the title.  I didn't want it, nor did I need it, but it is there.  More bullshit cop dialog.  I want to hunt them all down and assassinate them, but I'm merely a video store clerk sent to collect on late fees.  Out of fucking nowhere the female reporter reveals that she has seen the D.A.'s high school year book and figured out he is the killer.  What the fuck?  They find him and gun him down.  The end.  The horror, the horror of this shitty fucking movie.  It's not only poorly made but insulting in it's banality.  It's been a waste of my life as well as my sanity.  It never even attempts to entertain.  It sits there like a sacrificial ox waiting for slaughter.  I now understand why other reviewers went insane or turned up dead.  There is literally nothing to talk about or even poke fun at with this film.  It's like watching a home movie or a slasher film made by twelve year olds for a class project.  It is the anti-cinema.  It is absolutely nothing.  


  They were going to make me a site moderator for this and I wasn't even on their staff anymore.  Everybody wanted me to do it, the movie itself most of all.  I felt like it was sitting in the VCR waiting for me to take the pain away.  Even Koz wanted it dead, and that's who it took it orders from anyway.  I rubbed my body down in Bath and Body Works face mask and approach the VCR from the side quickly hitting the eject button.  I throw the tape to the ground as Nena echos through my head.  "99 Luftballons Auf ihrem Weg zum Horizont Hielt man für Ufos aus dem All Darum schickte ein General..."  I pick my laptop up from the desk and begin to bash the tape with all the anger and hate that I can muster.  Bash!  The viewer window breaks.  Bash!  The case itself snaps and breaks.  "'ne Fliegerstaffel hinterher Alarm zu geben, wenn es so wär Dabei war'n da am Horizont Nur 99 Luftballons."  Bash!  The tape comes flying of the spindles.  "99 Düsenjäger
Jeder war ein großer Krieger Hielten sich für Captain Kirk."  Bash!  The tape crinkles and twists.  Bash!  All of my thoughts and emotions are blank.  I'm just a reviewer on a mission.  I completed their fucking mission.  I completed Koz's mission.  Her old lady nipples still burned into my memory...the horror.

  I put on my pajamas and bring my wife some Kool Aid.  We lay down together and watch Twilight.  After 555 nothing can be that bad...right?  I still never got that microwave pizza.



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