All the ladies love right hooks.
Right now, I'm sure you're asking yourself, "How in the sweet love of Lucifer's belly button can you base an entire full-length motion picture around one of the most abhorrent sexual acts on the planet?" Surprisingly, and smartly, Oliver Blackburn's snappy neo-slasher Donkey Punch doesn't linger on its cruel namesake for too long, choosing instead to focus its energy on how one tragic mistake transforms the lives of several reckless youths over the course of a sexy, drug-addled evening out at sea. Those with short attention spans beware: the film takes it sweet time getting to the sweet stuff, allowing Blackburn and his stable of strong up-and-coming faces to build mountains and valleys and rivers and streams of unbearable tension, including several startling deaths that should, in theory, leave you gasping for air. Thankfully, all of these insanely juicy kills aren't lumped together in typical generic slasher fashion, leaving huge, dialogue-filled balloons in-between the chunky parts. This, of course, is fine by me, as the characters, their interactions, and the choices they ultimately make are just as rousing as the bloodshed. Donkey Punch is a thriller of unusual intensity, giving discerning genre fanatics an incredibly well-balanced diet of debauchery, intelligence, and good old-fashioned murder. Sock it to me, baby, but try to keep it below the neck.
Recipe For Success: One Taboo Subject + Several Interesting Plot Twists + Inventive Use Of Boating Equipment
Warning Sign: Yachts are fun until somebody uses the flare gun.
Then they're a blast.
Every pound has a story.
As a former fat guy who still struggles to keep his slimmer figure in check, I can totally appreciate what Miles Forman and director Michael Landsberg were trying to accomplish with their surprisingly heartfelt 2005 documentary Fatboy: The Movie. To be fair, it did take me a while to warm up to Miles and his weighty dilemma, as I'm not exactly sympathetic to those who whine incessantly about the hefty situation they've ultimately put themselves in. By the end of the picture, however, I was almost cheering out loud for the guy to make a breakthrough, hoping that he would finally get his fecal matter together in order to locate the happiness he seems desperate to attain. In-between his bouts of depression and self-doubt, Landsberg has inserted some pretty shocking factoids about America's obsession with fad dieting, the consequences of going under the knife to lose weight, and how big business is sticking it in your butthole when you're attention is focused elsewhere. Of course, if you've seen Super Size Me or read Fast Food Nation, none of this information should come as a shock. What keeps you glued to the screen for the duration is Miles and his quest to improve his health, his relationships, and his life. Landsberg and crew have delivered a remarkable film which may, in fact, help those looking for a skinny beacon in this grossly overweight nation.
Recipe For Success: Miles Forman's Undiluted Courage + Landsberg's Snappy Pacing + One Sad Snapshot Of The American Way Of Life
Stay After The End Credits: One of the best scenes in the entire movie may go unseen if you bail out beforehand.
Honesty goes a long way with me.
In my town, second chances are free.
Ryan Nicholson, special effects wizard and part-time filmmaker, doesn't like me very much. A few years ago, I took a huge, wet, blog-related poop all over his dodgy torture horror yarn Live Feed, a film which easily ranks with one of the worst I've ever seen. No joke. And considering how much cinematic swill I've crammed into my kooky little brain over the past two decades, that's really saying something. So it comes as a massively shocking surprise that I'm actually pretty pumped about the guy's latest creation, lovingly entitled Gutterballs. If you haven't had the chance to digitally ingest the madness for yourself, direct yourself as soon as humanly possible to this location. For those who don't wish to immediately partake in the trailer, allow me to summarize: grindhouse revival without the tongue in the cheek, the wink-wink or the nudge-nudge. TLA Releasing is handling stateside distribution for the flick, which should hit retail shelves on January 27th. If I can get my nasty little fingers on a copy, I'll be sure to let you know what I think about this potentially nifty affair. As long as Ryan promises not to punch me in the balls, that is.
Digital or otherwise.
Proper barricading is always important.
Regardless of your personal feelings towards director Roman Polanski and his penchant for drugs, perversion, and alleged sodomy, one must freely admit that his sadly overlooked 1967 genre spoof The Fearless Vampire Killers (aka Dance of the Vampires) is an incredibly funny albeit severely dated horror/comedy that still doesn't get the attention it rightfully deserves. With nods to such classic gothic horror outings as Vampyr and Nosferatu, Polanski's skillful comedy follows the misadventures of two bumbling vampire hunters -- namely Professor Abronsius and his youthful servant Alfred -- as they attempt to rescue an innkeeper's daughter from the sinister clutches of a smooth blood-sucker by the name of Count Von Krolock. The film itself is gorgeous to look at, punctuated by colorful, inventive set and costume design not unlike those found in most Hammer productions from that era. To keep things interesting, Polanski dances gingerly between chills and chuckles, at time blurring the line to the point where viewers won't know how, exactly, they should react to the events unfolding on-screen. But therein lies the beauty of The Fearless Vampire Killers: it genuinely respects and appreciates both the terror and the laughter. What an amazing concept! One of my absolute favorites.
Recipe For Success: Jack MacGowran's Bumbling Brilliance + An Excellent Blend Of Horror And Comedy + Sharon Tate Singing In A Bathtub
Polanski's Youthful Secrets: Though he doesn't look old enough to vote, Roman Polanski was actually 32 when this film was made.
I guess being a degenerate does have its advantages.
Rich, creamy, and good for you, too.
Tired of the same old thing this holiday season? Are you looking to violently toss tradition and family values into the proverbial wind? What to literally scare the stuffing out of your demented grandmother before she projectile vomits pea soup all over your clean bathroom floor? If so, tune into Monsters HD this Thanksgiving for one of the snappiest turkey day marathons you're likely to find on such short notice. In addition to Robert Kurtzman's gory epic The Rage and Peter Jackson's immortal classic Dead Alive, this genre-friendly high-definition channel will also kindly provide you with screenings of the first three Return of the Living Dead movies, Bride of Re-Animator, The Last Man on Earth, both Pet Semetary flicks, Scarecrows, The Video Dead, and George Romero's zombie classic Day of the Dead. If that isn't enough quality cinematic entertainment to twist your delicate sphincter into a pretty little bow, I honestly don't know what is. If you're craving more information on the subject, point your dainty browsers towards the official Monsters HD website and gorge yourself on the details. How you like the meat flavor, cousin Oliver?
Yummy down on this.
It'll go straight to your thighs.
Despite my gushing love for Prachya Pinkaew's ambitious 2008 action effort Chocolate, its star JeeJa Yanin, and the many impossibly amazing traits it has working in its favor, the picture almost seems like a massive step backwards for this insanely talented director and his fearless crew of dedicated stunt men. It’s not as nearly accomplished or satisfying as either Tom Yum Goong or Ong Bak, especially in terms of story and execution. However, when compared to other like-minded efforts from around the world, it’s still light years beyond what everyone else is attempting -- except for Luc Besson, of course. After all, it's not everyday that you encounter a movie that features an autistic girl who uses the films of Tony Jaa to fuel her quest to pay for her mother's costly cancer treatment. The film’s dizzying climatic showdown definitely cements its place in the annals of cinematic history, but you’ll have to wade through a lot of unchecked silliness to get to the tender morsel of Muay Thai goodness at the heart of the production. At the end of the proverbial day, Chocolate is an extremely tasty nugget of martial arts madness, but it’s really nothing more than a 90 minute jaunt into the land of empty calories.
Recipe For Success: Flying Knees And Elbows + JeeJa Yanin's Impressive Skills + Stunts You Won't See Anywhere Else
Mental Health Tips: If an autistic girl asks for money, cough it up immediately.
Or you might just pay with your teeth.
Muh-muh-marvelous.
Contrary to popular belief, I have one nasty sense of humor. In fact, it's actually not that difficult to make me laugh -- just ask Thunderpants and The Garbage Pail Kids Movie. However, there are very few films in this depressed little world that genuinely tickle my proverbial funny bone all the way to the end credits. Ben Stiller's untouchable 2008 guffaw factory Tropic Thunder is one of the those movies. Working from a script he co-wrote with Justin Theroux, Stiller unleashes a scathing attack on the evil Hollywood machine without plunging the dagger too deep into the belly of the beast which keeps his muscular body so incredibly shredded and well-maintained. Since the story itself is a simple, fairly predictable fish-out-of-water tale -- a handful of problematic professional actors find themselves knee-deep in the deadly jungles of Vietnam -- it's the gaggle of mind-numbingly snappy performances that will ultimately mesmerize and enchant you. Robert Downey Jr. is almost unrecognizable as a dude playing another dude that, at one point, is disguised as another dude, though its probably Tom Cruise's uncharacteristic cameo that will stay with you. From bottom to top, Tropic Thunder is a deliciously witty wad of patented Stiller madness. Excellent.
Recipe For Success: Justin Theroux's Spiffy Writing Chops + Danny McBride + One Of The Funniest Things I've Seen All Year
Do Yourself A Favor: Ignore the theatrical version on DVD and immediately devour the director's cut.
And watch out for the land mines.
Please murder your children.
My philosophy regarding the disciplining of children has always been simple: If they get out of line, stick 'em in the neck with a long, sharp object and let 'em bleed their troubles on the kitchen floor. Director James Watkins' socially aware survival horror flick Eden Lake tackles the issue of today's troubled youth by dropping one cozy upper-class couple (Kelly Reilly and Michael Fassbender) into the middle of a wooded landscape teeming with angry, misguided children. Before you can scream Nanny 911, our unfortunate heroes find themselves up against some of the fiercest teenage troublemakers ever captured on film, culminating in one truly shocking final reel nipple twister that will lodge itself deep inside your tender brain for days. Watkins -- who penned the highly underrated My Little Eye -- pulls no punches with his virtually seamless script; these blood-thirsty little rascals are lean, mean, and capable of cruelty beyond their years, a fact which may trouble parents, teachers, and the more sensitive viewers who seek this title out. Eden Lake is top notch, regardless of whether you approach it as a straightforward genre outing or a twisted look at the bottomless chasm between the generations. Dimension Extreme finally got something right.
Recipe For Success: Intensity In Ten Cities + A Horribly Downtrodden Finale + Thomas Gill Scares The Crap Out Of Me
Spare The Rod: Parents, please discipline your children. I'm begging you.
Otherwise I'm not going to brake at crosswalks.
Those lavender boys will split your wig.
Randolph Kret's astonishing 1998 race-related revenge flick Pariah -- which received a snappy DVD release last year courtesy of Indican Pictures -- is perhaps one of the truest cinematic depictions of the skinhead lifestyle ever to emerge from the trenches of the American indie scene. Inspired by true events, the story chronicles the journey of a downtrodden white boy (Damon Jones) as he attempts to infiltrate the savage clan of urban Neo-Nazis who brutally ganged raped his African-American girlfriend in an abandoned parking garage, an event which ultimately leads to her tragic suicide. Unlike American History X, a film which attempts to give these ugly, misguided individuals a handsome, sympathetic face, Pariah presents its subjects in a raw, uncompromised manner, giving you a pretty clear picture of what these lawless bastards are capable of doing to anyone unfortunate enough to stumble into their line of sight. The cast, meanwhile, might not be the strongest you've ever encountered, but they bring a rawness to the picture that lends itself greatly to the intensity of the material. And while the film's tightly-wound conclusion may leave some viewers wanting more, I seriously doubt Kret could have ended the story any other way. Remarkable indie filmmaking that deserves to find an audience.
Recipe For Success: Damon Jones & David Lee Wilson + Plenty Of Frentic Energy + A Finale That Doesn't Sell Itself Out
Fun With Dictionaries: Did you know that "pariah" is defined as "a social outcast?" I didn't, either.
And who says film isn't educational?
I like to crawl under the sheets and inhale.
How anyone on God's greenish earth could despise a motion picture built solely around a child who cannot stop farting is simply beyond my limited means of comprehension. Apparently a lot of people do, as director Peter Hewitt's underrated 2002 butt blasting classic Thunderpants currently holds a particularly awful score over at Internet Movie Database. Naturally, one must approach such a crude, uncouth comedy with their absurdity cap pulled snugly around their otherwise discerning craniums, especially if they hope to see those precious end credits roll. Thankfully, when the relentless adolescent flatulating becomes too much to endure, you still have Rupert Grint and an out-of-place Paul Giamatti to keep you company for the duration. But let's be brutally honest with ourselves for a moment -- Thunderpants isn't high art, and it's definitely not going to appeal to uptight parents who involuntarily bristle whenever their child's best friend breaks wind at the dinner table. Truth be told, this is one of the worst examples of low-brow humor currently captured on film, but for some unknown reason, it amused the blue cheese out of me. To put it in layman's terms, Thunderpants puckers my throbbing pink poop producer. I'm not even sure what that means.
Recipe For Success: One Kid Farting On Another Kid + Adults Being Offended By Said Farting + Farting As A Form Of Space Travel
Deep Dark Secrets: If you replace the letter "I" in Grint with the letter "U," you have the word "grunt."
I think that's kind of funny.
Stick your finger inside the dead girl.
As I gather my poorly-worded thoughts regarding Robby Henson's convoluted 2008 genre effort House, I find that my opinion of the picture tends to shift drastically depending on how much thought I put into the experience. On the surface, Henson's wonky head game comes across as a solid haunted house tale involving two dysfunctional couples, a creepy house in the middle of nowhere, and lots of inner demons. The premise itself is surprisingly functional, that is, until you start peeling back the layers and peering beneath the proverbial skin. Once everything has been taken into consideration, you'll quickly discover that House is an intentionally confusing cinematic derailment, due in part to its shaky, second-rate script and its reliance on some genuinely awful performances from a handful of Hollywood nobodies. Genre veterans Leslie Easterbrook, Bill Moseley, and Michael Madsen, meanwhile, play second fiddle to the pretty faces, spouting reams of generic dialogue while pretending they're not in it for the paycheck. That said, Henson definitely has a knack for atmosphere, though his vision is somewhat muddled by the unfortunate use of bargain basement CGI. If you keep your expectations stuck to the bottom of your shoes, this House might be worth the headache. Good luck to you.
Recipe For Mediocrity: Generic Plotting + Nearly Rotten Performances + Michael Madsen Is The New Steven Seagal
Back Road Tips: If you decide to take a detour, make sure you bring a spare tire or two.
Or, you know, just avoid the detour.
Assassins are often considerate of others.
Bruce Beresford's plodding 2006 suspense yarn The Contract would have made for a snappy action thriller had it been produced by a company like Golan Globus during the early 1980's. However, as a modern suspense picture spearheaded by the director of Driving Miss Daisy, this flaccid tale of a grieving father and son's encounter with a highly-trained military assassin in the perilous mountains of Washington seems strangely antiquated when compared to other modestly produced nail-biters conceived over the past ten years. The central story is predictable to a fault, generating little tension as it blindly stumbles its way to a very weak conclusion that is neither satisfying nor particular interesting. Of course, had Hollywood heavyweights Morgan Freeman and John Cusack given two purple craps about this project, perhaps something could have been salvaged from Stephen Katz and John Darrouzet's painfully humdrum script. Since nobody on-board seems remotely inspired to deliver a product that is anything but wholly mediocre, it's probably in your best interest to leave The Contract on the shelf where you found it. This is a Steve Railsback vehicle, at best, though it's certainly no Street Corner Justice. Then again, what is?
Recipe For Disaster: Two Actors Who Couldn't Care Less + One Sagging Screenplay + If I Lived In Washington, I'd Be Offended
A Note To Mr. Railsback: No offense, buddy. You know you're the man.
Private Wars proved that to everyone.
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