Best not to irritate your local butcher.
When you stop to consider the large amount of undiluted manure that Lionsgate releases on a semi-regular basis, one can only wonder why, exactly, this genre friendly company chose to dump cult Japanese director Ryuhei Kitamura's 2008 gorefest The Midnight Meat Train into a handful of discount theaters earlier this year. Not only is this nasty little flick one of the meatier straight-forward horror outings I've encountered in recent years, it's also one of the best Clive Barker adaptations we've received thus far, second only to the talented writer's own cinematic masterpiece Hellraiser. Was this visceral tale of one desperate artist's obsession with the nocturnal shenanigans aboard one of New York's infamous subway trains simply too gooey for general audience to behold? Are intelligent, deliberately-paced shockers too mind-numbingly dull for this Saw saturated, ADD afflicted world in which we currently inhabit? The explanations for such a curious bitch move are endless, as Lionsgate is always quick to unleash countless no-budget atrocities upon their devoted followers whenever financially possible. Huge Kudos to FearNet for giving discerning genre fans the opportunity to experience this incredible motion picture first-hand. I haven't been this excited about a serious American horror movie in quite some time.
Recipe For Success: Vinnie Jones Kicking Ass + Kitamura's Kinetic Direction + What Were Those Things On His Chest, Anyway?
Great Moments In Slow Motion: Ted Raimi's surprising cameo is one of the oddest moments in the entire film.
And he never saw it coming.
 The freaks come out at night.
Lean, atmospheric, and wholly original, Donovan Cerminara's tightly-wound military horror flick Operation: Sunrise is the sort of steady, uncomplicated genre production we don't see very often these days. Instead of employing such tired tactics as opportunistic jump scares, educationally-challenged teenagers with a collective hard-on for partying in the middle of nowhere, and a host of impressive albeit entirely pointless scenes of stomach-churning grue, Cerminara and co-writer Florian Dedio have provided prospective viewers with a smart, engaging story about disposable NATO soldiers sent to investigate a slew of curious events unfolding in a small Polish village. As per usual, things quickly go awry, but not in the manner in which you've grown painfully accustomed to. For the most part, Operation: Sunrise is a quiet film, choosing to gradually creep as opposed to thoroughly raping your tender senses with an explosion of emblematic tomfoolery. However, the picture may prove to be too slow for those who have immersed themselves in the wily world of Saw; if you thought Session 9 was a total bore, perhaps you should look elsewhere for your proverbial kicks. The rest of us, of course, will be hiding out in the Polish countryside.
Recipe For Success: Several Strong Performances + Kim Sønderholm + Polish Freedom Fighters Are Hot
Sexual Healing: Infected blood-drinking maniacs need love, too.
Remember to use protection.
 Yet another reason to abuse drugs.
Max Payne is the cinematic equivalent of having someone gleefully flatulate into your oozing eye sockets after they've savagely removed your ruined retinas with a rusty Wal-Mart name tag. It's also proof positive that someone in the development wing at Fox is ingesting truckloads of illegally acquired street narcotics when they should be producing quality motion pictures that are genuinely worth the price of a sticky matinee movie ticket. Mark Wahlberg seems utterly perplexed as rogue cold case detective Max Payne, a man who, when he isn't chasing drug dealers and other seedy characters, spends his free time searching desperately for the low-life scoundrels who heartlessly murdered his wife and child. And while Mr. Marky is occasionally capable of delivering outstanding performances, the quality of his work really depends on the strength of the film's director. Sadly, John Moore is barely a filmmaker, as evidenced by his astounding ability to turn an action-packed video game into a plodding, unwatchable mess. Could be interesting, I suppose, if approached as an experiment on how to completely waste an otherwise competent cast of Hollywood professionals. Frankly, you'd be better off buying a used copy of the game at your local neighborhood pawn shop.
Recipe For Disaster: One Muddled Script + Wahlberg's 1000 Yard Stare + Mila Kunis Needs A Better Agent
What I Wanted To See: Wahlberg jumping onto surrealistic blood trails while dead babies wail in the distance.
Feel the vibration.
 Trace Adkins is one sly devil.
Chances are, if you combine rednecks, zombies, trailer parks, sleazy women, and several revolting scenes of fart-puking gore, yours truly will be all over it like cross-eyed hillbillies on inbred siblings. Steven Goldmann's kooky 2008 horror outing Trailer Park of Terror, despite having all of these elements working in its favor, is still a tough nut to crack. The film unfolds like a country-fried version of Rob Zombie's House of 1000 Corpses, complete with a murderous clan of freakish maniacs, a vast array of horrific imagery, and one curvy blonde who doesn't mind when the camera lingers on her strong points. Problem is, most of the supposedly disturbing content seems so outlandish, so impossibly goofy, that I found myself laugh hysterically when I probably should have been violently upchucking. Questionable atmospheric pressures aside, Goldmann does a phenomenal job behind the camera, delivering a number of tense moments throughout the picture's decently paced 97 minutes. The film's main attraction, of course, is its wonderfully executed physical effects, a nice change of pace from the awful CG nonsense we see these days. All in all, Trailer Park of Terror definitely delivers the sweet and steamy stuff, even if you're chuckling when you should be screaming.
Recipe For Success: Nichole Hiltz Channeling Jaime Pressly + Undead Pornographers + Priscilla Barnes Is Naughty
A Note To Youth Pastors: Keep it in your pants, already.
Or decapitation is the least of your worries.
 That'd be me.
Interesting tidbit of information: The busiest week ever for this peculiar little site just so happened to coincide with a number of depressing personal issues, a nasty set of unruly circumstances that have effectively obliterated my plans for The Great October Mind Fuck, which, honestly, has turned into a joke of embarrassingly awful proportions. In other words, that project is dead, buried, and decomposing at this very moment. Turns out this unexpected derailment is a blessing in disguise, as I've got a crap ton of reviews on-deck for a number of interesting flicks, including Operation: Sunrise, Trailer Park of Terror, Feast II, Kinky Killers, just to name a few. Hopefully things will be back on track this week. Virtual promises are, of course, weak and unimpressive, so I'll refrain from making bold statements and outrageous proclamations. Not that anyone gives a squishy rat fart, anyway, right? Oh, stop it. You're just saying that.
Rest in peace, Quiet Man.
 My left foot.
Despite the fact that I've seen Takashi Miike's 1999 genre masterpiece Audition more times than I'll ever care to admit -- it is, after all, my favorite horror flick -- the film still has an eerie hold over me that I cannot readily explain. Does the picture's strength lie within the story's sudden shift into hallucinatory horror during its bleak, uncompromising final act? The uncanny power of Eihi Shiina's subtly unnerving performance? The almost detached nature in which we, the audience, watch this horrifying scenario unfold? In reality, it's all of these things and more, delivered with steadied, skillful direction from Miike, a man whose name has almost become synonymous with brutally disturbing cinema. And while a few of his trademark freak-outs can be found here, the amount of on-screen carnage is smartly kept to a dull roar. It's the context of these scenes that those final moments so uncomfortable to watch, even when you know exactly what's lurking around the proverbial corner. Audition changed the way I look at horror movies, forever altering my expectations from the genre as a whole. How can a simple story about a widower looking for love radically change a person's point of view? The answer's in the bag near the phone.
Recipe For Success: Daisuke Tengan's Script + A Length Of Piano Wire + One Carpet, Pulled From Beneath Your Feet
Your Tongue Is Sensitive: Don't stick sharp objects through it all by yourself, okay?
Let your lady handle it.
 Don't mess with Petey.
Since I seem to be the only person on the entire planet who absolutely adores Gabe Bartalos' seriously wapred 2004 head game Skinned Deep, I figured it was time to sit down and discuss this unfairly underrated B-movie classic. How anyone can despise a film which features a man with an enormous brain running naked through New York City, a killer with some seriously sadistic head gear, and a pasty midget tossing plates is beyond me. Granted, it's not the most technically accomplished motion picture you'll ever experience, mind you, and it's definitely not the best release Fangoria has released on their vanity label -- that honor would have to go to the Irish zombie chiller Dead Meat -- but damn if it isn't a blast to watch. Just remember: When sitting down with something as monumentally brainless as this surrealistic spin on Tobe Hooper's iconic The Texas Chainsaw Massacre, you have to ignore the rough edges, the shoddy acting, and the questionable dialogue. You have to roll with the punches, so to speak, because Skinned Deep marches to the beat of a very twisted, very evil little drummer. Finding the rhythm, of course, is up to you.
Recipe For Success: Acid-Inspired Set Design + Warwick Davis + Someone Get Me A Sequel Already
Here's a Quote For You: Skinned Deep is the cinematic love child of David Lynch and Frank Henenlotter.
With Downs Syndrome.
 Your vagina has an attitude problem.
Takao Nakano's racy 2004 gorefest Killer Pussy (aka Sexual Parasite) was recommended to me with the promise that it achieved the same level of edgy, outrageous violence found in Japan's ultra-notorious Guinea Pig series. Sadly, this is not the case. Although it's certainly overloaded with sadistic carnage -- usually of the genital persuasion -- and several uniquely disgusting sexual couplings, the film is just too damn goofy be to taken seriously. Am I headed towards yet another boring episode of Snazzy Motions Pictures Ruined By Shattered Expectations? Doubtful. Even if I'd approached Killer Pussy as nothing more than a light-hearted erotic gorefest with a serious hard-on for ample bosoms and cutesy Japanese schoolgirls, I'd still be completely disappointed with the end product. My biggest complaint: too much pointless sex, not enough flesh-eating cooters. The titular beast doesn't have a lot of screen time in this short 60-minute jaunt, a decision which probably had more to do with the cast's natural assets than anything else. What an enormous shame. Killer Pussy is of the same caliber as anything starring Misty Mundae or her opportunistic cohorts. And, no, I don't mean that as a compliment. Ignore this monstrous mistake and move on.
Recipe For Disaster: Poor Special Effects + Uncomfortable Metaphaors + I Wanted More Murderous Mommy Holes
Warning Signs: If your girlfriend's crotch is dripping blue cheese, get her to a hospital on the double.
And don't have sex with her before you leave.
 Imagine that.
When you and the entire southern wing of the psychiatric hospital you currently occupy rush out next Tuesday to pick up a copy of the Ghost House Underground box set, kindly flip over that shiny Trackman DVD and take a quick look at the quote nestled sweetly at the top of the packaging. Recognize that website declaring the film to be a "feast for the eyes?" You should, because, like, you're on it. Apparently Lionsgate has pulled one of the nicer things I had to say about Igor Shavlak's lackluster slasher flick and is currently using it to pimp the film's Region 1 release on October 14th. Since this is the first time a major studio has used a passage from my corny little site to help market their product (to my knowledge, anyway), I'm more than a little excited about the whole bloody affair. Is this a sign that the world is truly coming to a very unfortunate albeit long overdue conclusion? Perhaps, dear readers. Perhaps. Until we know for sure, stock up on huskless popcorn and four cheese Hot Pockets -- because I'm coming over tonight to use your shower to wash my cats. Just kidding, you guys. Come on.
Or maybe not.
 Yes, your balls.
Simply put, directors Gualtiero Jacopetti and Franco Prosperi's unflinchingly foul 1971 faux documentary Goodbye Uncle Tom makes Roots look like a very special episode of Diff'rent Strokes. This salty high-concept exploitation flick chronicles the hideous world of the American slave trade through the eyes of two time traveling journalists who seek to expose the true nature of this truly embarrassing era in United States history. How these unfortunate souls -- be it man, woman, or child -- were bought, sold, whipped, raped, and brutalized is shown in such graphic detail that yours truly was forced to consume this 120-minute endurance test over the course of two days; documented real life misery, it would seem, does not agree with me. Of course, the film does have its share of problems, namely its uncomfortably off-beat sense of humor and its incredibly tacky screwball comedy score. I'm assuming these supposedly mirthful moments were meant to lighten the neverending onslaught of tragedy and despair, but these questionable scenes seem grossly inappropriate when seated next to wanton human depravity. Regardless of these questionable storytelling techniques, Goodbye Uncle Tom is a fascinating film from start to finish, and it's probably closer to the truth than any of us are willing to admit. If you're not affected, you're heartless.
Recipe For Success: The Committment Of Hundreds Of African-American Extras + Great Production Values + White People Are Evil
The Worst Part: One randy journalist's one night stand with a 13 year-old sex slave.
It's like a doody stain on your upper lip.
 Yes, I'm insanely jealous.
Want to know why my good buddy Belial is so jaw-droppingly excited? If you must know, he just signed up to win an incredible collection of bizarre motion pictures from the fine individuals who operate The Unusual Times, a website devoted to chronicling the odder side of life. And when I say incredible, I mean murder your mom fantastic, or, perhaps, dismember your dad dandy. Included in this nifty bundle of celluloid nuttiness are such modern classics as The Dark Backward, Pink Flamingos, Crazy People, Modern Problems, Freaked, For Your Height Only, and The Fisher King, just to name a few. The drawing will be held, appropriately enough, on October 31st, so you should strongly consider motivating yourself towards the official contest page as soon as humanly possible. After all, as a collector of strange and unusual cinema, I'd hate for you to miss out on the opportunity to obtain one of the coolest online prizes I've encountered in a very, very long time. Unless, of course, you know of someone who's giving a way a one-armed hare-lipped dwarf who knows the Stop Making Sense album by heart. Otherwise, get off your excessively wide virtual behind and sign-up, already.
Doggone it.
 May flames lick your genitalia.
Comprised of three separate stories chronicling three generations of men within one truly dysfunctional family, György Pálfi's surrealistic drama Taxidermia is a shocking yet oddly heartfelt meditation on mankind's penchant for self preservation, be it literally or metaphorically. The picture runs the gamut from strangely hilarious to profoundly disturbing, the latter of which is experienced during a few key scenes that incorporate various forms of icky animal abuse. However, despite the jarring nature of these truly revolting moments, Pálfi manages to maintain a keen sense of humanity; one never feels as if they're being cruelly manipulated by the unusual imagery on-screen, a feat which seems almost impossible in this day and age of gratuitous sex and violence. Granted, most people may feel very differently about this snappy little motion picture, especially once they catch site of a harelipped Hungarian soldier shooting a column of fire from the tip of his erect manhood. Taxidermia is, perhaps, one of the few genuinely intelligent films that deftly incorporates postmortem beastiality, competitive eating, buckets of vomit, human taxidermy, and curly tails on babies into one cohesive package. Is it a masterpiece, you ask? In my estimation, it's pretty darn close. Highly recommended.
Recipe For Success: Unconventional Storytelling + An Effective Use Of Unsettling Imagery + I Want Shoot Fire From My Penis
For Those With Weak Stomachs: Don't watch it. I'm not even kidding with you.
I ate my dinner twice last night.
 Pray for my soul.
I generally tend to shy away from extremely coarse language on this site, but after very careful consideration, I've decided there's really no other way I can describe this month-long salute to degenerate cinema. The Great October Mind Fuck is an attempt to overload my strangely sensitive psyche with horrifically vile content to an extent that may border on self-abuse. This grisly, ill-conceived adventure will take me through Las Von Trier's The Idiots, Gualtiero Jacopetti and Franco Prosperi's Goodbye Uncle Tom, György Pálfi's Taxedermia, and Martin Loke's Bread & Circus, with many more obvious stop along the way. Can my mental stability withstand the shock and awe of Pier Paolo Pasolini's Salo? Will my synapses explode once I'm properly consumed Thierry Zéno's notorious Vase De Noces? Check back daily as I push myself to my cinematic breaking point. Oh, and if you have any suggestions, feel free to leave a comment. Let's see David Blaine top that!
Endurance artist, my ass.
 Scaffolding as self-defense.
Lovely ladies, double-crosses, bleeding eyeballs, and a very Tarantino-esque conclusion -- Bill Eagles' darkly humorous Beautiful Creatures is exactly the sort of quirky thriller we expect from the Brits after Guy Richie redefined the genre with his 1998 classic Lock, Stock and Two Smoking Barrels. And while I'm sure Eagles really hates it when snarky Internet film critics compare his sassy little crime caper to Richie's magnum opus, the similarities between the two film are simply too much to dismiss altogether. Both films feature a bevy of crude, offensive jokes, cruel and unusual villains, eccentric characters, sharp dialogue, and a slew of intertwining subplots that all resolve themselves neatly at the film's blood-spattered conclusion. Of course, Guy Richie didn't have Susan Lynch or the always engaging Rachel Weisz attempting to cover up an accidental murder while dodging mobsters, vengeful ex-boyfriends, the lurid advances of a corrupt detective, now did he? Of course not, and it's these intriguing elements that manage to separate Beautiful Creatures from all of the other Guy Richie clones that flooded the market during the first few years of the new millennium. If you're a sick bastard like yours truly, chances are you'll love it, too.
Recipe For Success: Rachel Weisz & Susan Lynch + One Smart Script + Bondage Sure Is Swell
If Someone Needs Help: Ask yourself this very important question, "Can I sell this story to Hollywood?"
If not, go straight home.
 Look: Edgar Wright!
When I'm not obsessively watching motion pictures from all around this impossibly twisted globe, I'm usually masturbating. If I'm not masturbating, chances are I'm thinking about masturbating. However, when I'm not considering the positive aspects of self love, I'm gyrating wildly to music from my favorite films. Imagine my gaspingly girlish surprise when I discovered that other people enjoy doing the exact same thing -- only without the mechanical masturbation. Every month at The Last Days of Decadence in London, England, a group of snazzy cats gather around for an evening filled with movie music, celebrities, and wordy film buffs. They have dubbed this event Straight To Video, and they'd like you to stop by and hang out for a bit. In fact, on October 4th, Shaun of the Dead and Hot Fuzz director Edgar Wright will be dropping in, as well as Osymyso, The Freelance Hellraiser, and The 20th Century Fox. To be perfectly honest, I have no idea who those last three individuals are. Regardless, it's sure to be a blast, so remove thyself from thine squalorly basement and venture forth. Oh, and take a picture of someone saying "We Miss You, Film Fiend" in a number of creative ways. I miss you, too.
Vicariously, I shall live.
|
|
