Sunday, December 21, 2014

Armageddon (1986)

"Armageddon It"!

Fuck yeah! Actually this tape is about the end of the world, which is no laughing matter. Until about ten seconds in, when they get to the psychics. The most famous of these being Nostra-dumbass, the historical cat who could supposedly see the future but actually had the balls to say that when he wrote it down he "deliberately obscured his meaning". How convenient. (Then again, his advocates insist that he did accurately predict the rise of "Hister", whoever the hell that was.) What's particularly hilarious is how all these jokers have a fairly high success rate when they're predicting stuff that occurred up to the point when this documentary was produced, but pretty much a zero percent success rate when they're predicting stuff that's supposed to happened afterwards. Unless Northern Europe and Japan really were destroyed in 1998 and I just missed it. Hey, it's possible. I drink a lot.

China: "Our bad."
In addition to the psychics this documentary also features the ghost of Jesus's mom (who apparently likes to fly around tiny, pissant villages, terrorizing small children), survivalists, Christians, and the Swiss, who have an entire underground city to wait out the end days in that they probably built with all that Jewish gold they wouldn't give back. My absolute favorite though was the "pyramidologist"; these clowns believe that pyramids can do pretty much anything, including sharpen knives and tell the future. They're basically functional retards:

Stupid ducks...
To summarize: all of these clowns are cracked in different, entertaining ways, but the one thing they agree on is that the end is coming soon, so you might want to hit the Sam's Club and stock up on toilet paper now. Any hot chicks who survive, look me up. If it's the end of the world, I want me a harem.
Movies, throttled into submission. The Mr. Satanism Library. Available here.

Sunday, December 14, 2014

Arachnoquake (2012)

A year before Sharknado captured our hearts and imaginations there was Arachnoquake, which... didn't. Our movie begins, naturally, with an arachnoquake, one that rates a full 4.5 on the Arachno scale. As any student of seisnoarachmology knows, this almost always results in an influx of poorly-rendered killer spiders that squeak like cartoon chipmunks. Also the spiders are pink, in what I can only assume is an attempt to make this movie appeal more to young girls, one of Syfy's more elusive demographics. Pretty fucking sexist, Syfy Channel. Opposing the spiders: a drunk, barely-employable loser, and Edward Furlong (note: these are two different people). Secondary characters include: Edward Furlong's immanently bangable babe of a daughter, and... no one else of any consequence.

She's listening to Jeremih, but I can let that slide.
Giant spiders are nothing new, of course (at one point, the Syphilis Channel was churning out 3-4 giant spider movies a week), but besides their fabulous color scheme these spiders have a few other attributes that help them stand out from the cluster: they breathe fire (like Godzilla); they can walk on water (like Rik Ocasek); and they have sonar (like Batman) (fuck you, I'm sure he does). There's no plot - just one long, repetitive chase (I'm sure Edward Furlong felt right at home); the cartoon effects are fucking terrible; and, in a slyly racist touch, the two primary black characters are depicted trying to carjack everything in sight, from a trolley to a goddamned boat. Because that's what black people do, right Syfy Channel? They carjack shit. Oh, the producers heard that they rap, too, but they can't confirm this because they never met any black people. Except for Will Smith once. That cat is allight.

What's hairy, pink, and full of poison? What? Jesus Christ, you're disgusting.
Sharks, ghosts, zombies... Mr. Satanism calls them all out, right here.

Pauly Shore is Dead (You'll Never Wiez in This Town Again) (2003)

There are two ways this could have been cool:
  1. If Pauly Shore actually faked his own death, and then, after finding out what everyone said about him, revealed he was alive and made a movie about it, exposing their insincerity and hypocrisy
  2. If instead of a movie, it was a newspaper headline
Unfortunately, Pauly Shore isn't dead (spoiler warning; and this might be the biggest spoiler of all time because it doesn't just spoil the movie, it spoils your whole day). And he didn't fake his own death either. Instead, this is a movie about what might happen if he faked his own death. So basically it's a bunch of people acting like they think he's dead, except they know he's not, so in reality it's just a parade of pointless horseshit. Talk about fucking lame. In fact, this is more than just fucking lame, or even FUCKING LAME. It's

I guess I shouldn't be surprised that an endlessly irritating, monkey-fucking, scab-peeling, ass-burrowing, diaper-licking, foot-smelling, jizz-leaking, pole-smoking, corn-inserting, leg-humping, biker-bathing, urine-chugging, panty-stealing, rim-jobbing, ditch-rutting, butt-picking, pit-trimming, peat-eating, anus-huffing, wino-spooning, piss-dribbling, booger-rolling, turd-saving, recycled water-chugging, ball-nuzzling, toilet-dwelling, pus-sucking, urethra-targeting, sewage-dipping, pube-farming, cum-scrubbing, oven-cleaning, snot-slurping, poodle-molesting, zit-hunting, suppository-hoarding, penis-sniffing, scat-scarfing, book-burning, blood-letting, hemorrhoid-inducing, bottom-barreling, dickless, brainless, shitless, drip-ass, talent-deficient, dandruff bag cockwipe like Pauly Shore doesn't even get that the number one rule when pulling a prank or a scam is that you actually have to pull the prank or scam. What a sack-lapping, douche-violating... well, you know.

I... I know what all of those words mean, but they make no sense in this context.
What's really astounding is the parade of famous people he convinced to be in this hoax non-hoax cunt ripoff. Sure, a lot of them are addle-fucked has-beens or all-time losers (Rico Suave; that flakey beach bum from the O. J. Simpson trial; the lead limp from Limp Bizkit), but plenty of them are totally normal celebrities, except of course for their decision to be in a Pauly Shore movie that probably didn't even pay scale.

Truly a low point in cinematic history. No, scratch that. It's a low point in everything.
For more Hollywood hate, check out The 100 Best Movies Ever Made ...Mostly Suck, available electronically or in paperback. It's the perfect gift for the person who hates everything.

Sunday, December 7, 2014

Starstruck (1979)

One of the most memorable settings in the original Star Wars was the bar on Tattoonine Tatoowien Tat-2-Ween Luke Skywalker's planet, popularly known as the "Creature Cantina" until an entire generation of obsessive-compulsive hypernerds came along and gave it -- and every single goddamned alien drunk in it -- a proper name, while also insisting that every single one of these aliens was of fundamental importance to the central storyline in some harebrained, convoluted way, revealed in one of the 37,487 Star Wars novels (approx. count) published between 1990 and 2010, all of which have been unceremoniously flushed from current continuity by subsequent Star Wars rights holders the Walt Disney Company. Ha ha! Fuck you, nerds.

Eat shit. Eat an entire bucket of shit.
Anyway, the Creature Cantina was so popular that Kenner made a (crappy) toy out of it (it was constructed almost entirely of cardboard and the tears of disappointed children), and it reappeared in the first Star Wars sequel, The Star Wars Holiday Special (1978). (It was official. It was produced. It aired. It was the first sequel. You can't deny this.) What you probably didn't know though is that the Cantina's "bar chock full o' aliens" concept was ripped off wholesale by this show, a goddamned sitcom about a dim-witted space frontier family who runs a space diner/bar/hotel in the far-flung, well-hung future of space, where children eat exploding cereal, tribbles pee in your lap before being accidentally sucked up by the vacuum cleaner, and the main guy forces everyone at his table to say grace, even the aliens, who undoubtedly worship gods of their own and seriously, how insensitive can you get? Of course there's a robot maid (programmed to sound like a British nanny), plus a second robot who looks like the result of a drunken tryst between C-3PO and the short-lived 1970s incarnation of DC's Robotman. And don't be too quick to dismiss the possibility: at one point, Not C-3PO thanks the robot maid for "last night", making it abundantly clear that these robots, at least, are entirely capable of fucking.

And paired off, the two of them are in no way reminiscent of C-3PO
and R2-D2. Who, by the way, I'm also convinced are fucking.
This first (and, thankfully, only) episode begins with auditions for the bar's new band, and it's easy to imagine the famous Star Wars "Cantina Band" landing their own gig in much the same fashion, although for some reason I picture the Cantina Band doing a lot more coke. And who knows, maybe they passed through this place, as it tries its non-infringing best to look like it exists in the Star Wars universe proper: there's a second cousin to Return of the Jedi's Ree-Yees milling around (Christ, just look him up, I had to), plus aliens that look like the Cantina's Rat-Face and Fetus-Head. (I'm sure those are the names Kenner would have come up with, if they'd thought to make toys out of them.)

Ree-Yees' cousin, Rick-Dees.
Later in the episode (the content may have sucked, but these old shows managed to pack a lot of it into 26 minutes) a shady businessdude shows up and tries to steal the family's apple pie recipe (Star Wars!), leading to a clumsy sci-fi fight, but as you can imagine the special effects here aren't exactly impressive, about on par with the music video for Billy Ocean's "Loverboy". Which, come to think of it, made considerably better use of this concept overall. Ultimately, there's little here that Earthlings would consider "humor", although the laugh track, clearly inserted at random, tries its best to convince us otherwise. Starstruck is a horrible, detestable footnote in Star Wars's history and influence, but it's one that's worth seeing, just so future writers and directors will know what NOT to do. Or they could just watch The Phantom Menace.
I know everything there is to know about movies, and I write books so you can too.

Monday, December 1, 2014

Behind the Green Door (1972)

I don't want to drift into "too much information" territory here, but the truth of the matter is that if you could watch my sexual fantasies like a movie, you would claw your own eyeballs out while puking and then, probably, kill yourself. That's why I generally don't watch porn; even the craziest Japanese shit out there is nothing compared to what I can come up with using my very own imagination. Just like they taught us in grade school! Still, if you're really into movies there are a handful (heh) of pornos out there that you have to see. You know, the classics, most of which were made during the 1970s when porn was actually trendy for a while and therethus producers had no choice but to deliver more-or-less real movies that just happen to have hardcore sex in them, rather than a succession of boring sex scenes that last just long enough to get some lonely drunk off before he passes out right there on the couch, dick still in hand, and we come home from the bars and catch him and he never, ever, ever lives it down, not even twenty years later (Rich). The most essential of the classic-era pornos is probably Deep Throat (1972), but Behind the Green Door is a close second and is supposedly infinitely weirder, so I added a roll of paper towels to this week's expense report and decided to check it out.

"I rubbed soap into my eyes until I went blind and I can still see Mr.
Satanism's ghastly, unholy fantasies... My God, so many spiders..."
So, the flick begins with a short order cook taking a dig at the wops before he asks these two cats to tell him the story they promised, the one about about the green door. It seems said cats once went to an exclusive, live-action sex show, that, shockingly, featured, as part of the set design, a green door! Trè tacky. Oh, and the "star" of the show is apparently a girl they saw being abducted earlier that very same evening, that's probably worth mentioning too. It's definitely a creepy setup, but while the chick in question is absolutely beautiful and has an undeniably rockin' bod, she's sporting a truly awful hairdo and frankly I found that pretty distracting. You see? Even white slavery rape porn isn't enough to hold my interest. Another major problem: the live sex show also involves a clown at one point, and that is completely unacceptable, because whether you see them as delightful children's entertainers (wrong) or nightmarish ambassadors from Hell (closer), a clown should be the last thing you're thinking about when you're trying to enjoy porn. Unless you're a child molester, I suppose, or the kind of serial killer who thinks that a demon speaking to him through the neighbor's dog is clearly a unassailable defense for his actions. In fact, I've only seen one good porno featuring clowns, and it involves a whole anus of clowns (it's a flock of seagulls, a murder of crows, and an anus of clowns) cock-blocking a guy and clown gang-banging his girl (you can come up with your own clown-car joke here), who then leaves with them, after which the guy laments "I hate clowns!" See, that's funny. Which is important, because if you can't laugh while you're watching porn, you may very well cry. Trust me, I know.
For (somewhat) more mainstream fare, check out my film review books, available on Amazon and elsewhere, conveniently formatted for your Kindle or vaguely Kindle-like device.

Sunday, November 23, 2014

Ouija (2014)

I suspected that this wasn't gonna be a classic when the official trailer repeatedly pronounced the title wrong. I'm a real mark for ouija board movies though, so you better believe that I was first in line to torrent this sucker the weekend after it came out. Besides, its only real competition during the 2014 Hallowe'en movie season was Annabelle, a flick that unabashedly glorifies the (thankfully) deceased Ed Warren (may his soul writhe in torment forever) and his hag, cunt wife Lorraine, who's due to join him any time now, at which point the world will be an infinitely better place. Given the choice between mediocre half-scares and supporting real-life filth like the Warrens, I'll take the former every time. I'm a supervillain, not a monster.

Honest-to-fuck monsters are out there though, just ask
the Warrens. Here's their 100% true account of a real-
life werewolf that they exorcised OMG totally for reals.
And to be fair, Ouija didn't quite deserve the ruthless rub-a-dub-drubbing it got from most critics. The first half, in fact, is pretty okay: it introduces (or at least perpetuates) some fun new ouija lore for middle school girls to try out at slumber parties ("If you look through the little window in the planchette, you can see the ghosts that are talking to you!"); a chick hangs herself with Christmas lights (Is it wrong that whenever a chick hangs herself in a movie, I'm secretly hoping for an upskirt shot?); there's your usual parade of semi-effective jump scares; and while you won't give a whit about the zero-dimensional characters you'll probably want to fuck at least one of them, which is almost as good. (Hell, that attitude got me through two marriages.) Unfortunately, after the one girl is levitated and dropped head first into her bathroom sink (apropos of nothing, she's wearing really cute socks when this happens) things start to bog down, with the remaining kids going all Mystery, Inc. in an attempt to figure out who's haunting them and why, which means research, and as we all learned in college, research is generally boring. Plus, like a lot of ghost movies, this one eventually reaches a point where the obvious solution is to simply burn the house down, which has the dual benefits of solving the problem once and for all while also being kinda fun. Hardly anyone ever does this though, preferring to run up and down the hallways, screaming like a bunch of imbeciles. The all-time ouija board movie champ remains 1986's Witchboard, starring a pre-deranged Tawny Kitaen's tits, but this one easily makes the top ten, assuming there even are ten ouija board movies, of course. I suppose I could look that up, but man, that really smacks of research. Fuck that shit.

Tawny Kitaen in Witchboard. Or possibly at home. Whatever.
To see more ghostly horror movies put in their place, check out my book Legendary House of Haunted Hell, on sale here.

Thursday, November 20, 2014

Mr. Satanism Meets Angel Love


"It's Mr. Satanism. I'm here to review your comic book, and I'll start out by saying that it definitely needed more tits."

"It's me all right, but don't freak out, baby; I won't be ripping you a new one. Except for the lack of rack, I think your comic is pretty fucking awesome."

"Damn straight, Red. I know it's for chicks and shit, but you've got stories about abortion and doing blow and incest and everything. Not only is that cool in and of itself, but it's also proving to be useful in a more practical sense. See, because the cartoonish art style makes your book look so cute & innocent, I was able to give copies to that stupid single mom who wouldn't go out with me to pass on to her kids, and she won't realize they shouldn't be reading it until it's too late. And then there's the fact that you're unbelievably fine; sure, comic books are full of hot redheads, but why put up with a drama queen like Jean Grey who dies every other Tuesday when you could just hang with Angel Love? I usually go after comics like yours with both barrels, but as far as I'm concerned Angel Love totally fucking rocks. Five stars, A+, three thumbs up."

"It's not luck, toots - you earned it. Now put on something sexy so we can go out and celebrate. And when we get back, I'll stick it in your poop chute."

Shop Mr. Satanism. So much darker than Black Friday.

Sunday, November 16, 2014

Doctor Who, Series 5: Volume 1 (2010)

Despite my best efforts, I've developed a more-than-passing familiarity with most of the subcultures of nerd, from the basics (Star Wars and Trek, Marvel Comics, Dungeons & Dragons) to the second-tier (Firefly, Supernatural, Battlestar Galactica Classic) to the ironic (Manimal, Project Blue Book, Dollhouse), to the hopelessly obscure (She-Wolf of London, Bunnies & Burrows, actually fucking girls). One thing I've managed to avoid up to this point though is Doctor fucking Who, the endearingly quirky British (so far all of these descriptors are terrible) time traveler who's been on the air longer than most people sucking air today have been alive, or almost twice as long as The Simpsons. In fact, here's everything I knew about Doctor Who before I watched this DVD:
  • He travels around in a phone booth that shares all the qualities of a time machine, a spaceship, and Snoopy's doghouse.
  • His primary adversaries are robots called the Daleks, who haven't had a special effects upgrade since the 1960s.
  • He changes into a different guy every time the BBC gets fed up with the current actor playing him.
  • His sidekick is generally a young, hot chick, and don't tell me he's not fucking these chicks because why wouldn't he?
So why would I bothering delving into the world of Doctor Who at this late date? Two words: this incomparable vision:

I suppose I should be a lot more awed by this chick, but really I'm not. After all, it was only a matter of time before genetics and breeding would, through accident or design, produce the most stunning woman who ever has or ever will exist. I'm just glad that it happened during my lifetime. As for the show itself, the first episode on this DVD is effectively creepy, clever, and funny, sometimes all at once, and I have to say, I was dutifully impressed. The second episode manages the same general tone, but with notably diminishing results. And the third one is pretty awful, clearly just an excuse to roll out the new-year model Dalek, which I half-expected Doctor Who to start pimping for only $2349 down and $199 a month. (Three year lease, with approved credit. Some exclusions may apply.) That averages out to a solid C, and while that is a passing grade it's hardly something to brag about. Thousands of U.K. fans (and thirty-ish U.S. ones) can't be wrong, you say? Sure they can. Thousands of people paid to see 2004's Van Helsing, right? Thousands of people watch Family Guy. Thousands of people voted for Hitler and read John Saul novels. Thousands of people are wrong all the fucking time, and don't forget that Doctor Who is a product of the U.K., the country that gave us Crazy Frog, Filthy Rich & Catflap, a non-porn Spice Girls movie, and the Fast Food Rockers. Their pop culture aggregator is clearly set to "Do Not Filter Results". Sorry, you limey nerds, but, aside from the redhead, I really don't see what the fuss is all about. Oh, and apparently the redhead is actually Scottish, so you can't even hold that over my head.

Final word: Doctor Who = meh

Full disclosure: I would totally fuck the blonde from the Fast Food Rockers.

We'd do it in a tub full of KFC gravy, while crushing several Big Macs between
us. Like a fast food-themed Pink Flamingos. God damn I'm hungry right now.
Buy my books, where I call all this nerd shit out.

Monday, November 3, 2014

Black Roses (1988)

In the 1980s Americans were afraid of everything: Russia, Dungeons & Dragons, clown vans, even hair metal. That's right, while hair bands were just trying to assure us that it was, in fact, still possible to rock in America, parents from coast to coast were flipping out, convinced that listening to W.A.S.P. would lead to suicide, murder, devil worship, and, worst of all, listening to more W.A.S.P. (Probably in the opposite order though.) Something clearly had to be done, so they arrested that guy from the Dead Kennedys and everyone was pretty much satisfied. Although this did lead to the Dead Kennedys guy inundating us with hundreds of spoken word albums bitching about the whole thing, so, ultimately, who are the real losers here?

Shut up shut up shut up shut up!
Well, in this movie all of Tipper Gore's nightmares come true (except that one where she actually enjoys sex). The band in this movie is so fucking evil that, in the very first scene, their live show turns the audience members into people wearing monster masks. Or possibly actual monsters, it was kind of hard to tell. Either way, they won't be playing that venue again, so they pack up and head for the sticks, where they deflect the adults with a little lite-rock dog & phony show, and then play a series of gigs that infects the town's teenagers with the latex-meets-spandex horror movie version of metal. Fistfights break out, classes are cut, a can of red paint is left in the street with the lid off and someone could have easily tripped over it, possibly ruining their shoes... It's some serious Hieronymus Bosch shit, and it only gets worse: stereos turn on by themselves, a copy of the Mentors' LP Up the Dose bubbles and melts right on the turntable (now no one will be able to listen to classic tracks like "Heterosexuals Have the Right to Rock"), a monster pops out of a speaker and eats a guy, and loitering runs rampant. Can cold-blooded murder be far behind? (Spoiler warning: nope.) Fortunately, there is one teacher who cares, man, so he just casually strolls into the next show with some gasoline and road flares and Great Whites the place. (To the band's credit, even with the venue burning down around them, they continue to rock.) The whole thing is unrepentantly goofy, but there's plenty of violence, some gore, cool rubber monsters, ample tits, a guy fighting a demon with a tennis racquet, and a demon reacting surprisingly poorly to being kicked in the balls when it clearly doesn't have any.

Remade in 2001 as Rock Star.
For more Rockvember horror, check out one of my many books, available here.

Friday, October 31, 2014

Halloween 5 (1989)

Every long-running horror series has a quintessential installment, the one where all the cliches and tropes are firmly in place, but they haven't yet descended into baldfaced gimmickry, like making the episode "funny" or setting it in outer space. I hereby submit that Halloween 5 is the quintessential Halloween sequel, even though, no, in fact because it isn't very good. It starts with a recap of the previous movie, showing how Michael Myers survived certain death yet again, after which he stumbles into some old dude's hovel and... well, he just up and crashes there until Halloween rolls around again! That's right, Michael Myers, mad slasher, just kinda chills at this cat's pad for an entire year, and unless the guy is a fucking saint or something we have to assume that, at the very least, Michael Myers paid for his own groceries and chipped in a little bit for the utilities. Seriously, think about that for a minute. Imagine all the day-to-day shit that two roommates splitting a really small place would have to hash out, and then imagine that one of those roommates is Michael fucking Myers. Did Michael Myers put little sticky labels on his food so the old guy wouldn't eat it? Did they argue over whose turn it was to feed the parrot? (Yes, they have a parrot. A parrot!) Did one of them ever walk in on the other one jerking off? When you start thinking about the practicalities of the situation, the sheer absurdity of it completely overshadows everything else that happens in this movie, which is too bad because otherwise it hits all the Halloween notes we've come to expect. Michael Myers dons his William Shatner mask. Michael Myers lurks in the bushes and the background. Michael Myers chases one of his female relatives around with a knife. Michael Myers kills several luckless bystanders. Michael Myers' doctor rants and raves and overacts, ultimately achieving nothing. It's like a ballet, if ballet featured more brutal murders, which I think we can all agree it should. Oh, and as a bonus, this chapter also features the incomparably fine "Tina", the acme of Halloween victim-babe hotness, trumping even Nancy Loomis in her underwear, which is no mean feat:

Of all the classic slashers, only Friday the 13th Part 5 trotted out more concentrated wet dream fodder, with its double dose of "Robin" and "Violet":

Both cut down in the prime of their horny lives.
This, THIS is why serial killings should be illegal.
So while Halloween 5 won't be winning any awards (except maybe one of those stupid ones, like the Saturn Award or something), consider checking it out. Tina's legs are not to be missed, and, if nothing else, you'll never have to watch another Halloween sequel again. And won't it be nice to have that checked off your list?
Happy Hallowe'en.

Sunday, October 26, 2014

Child's Play 3 (1991)

The saddest entry in any horror franchise is the one that makes that last, floundering attempt to be scary before descending entirely into winking self-parody. The Child's Play/Chucky series (based on the execrable "My Buddy" doll, which it hilariously outlived by decades) was never very serious (or good) to begin with, and it's clearly just spinning its wheels here, but at least it's still trying to be a horror movie, instead of pummeling us with a bunch of tiresome one-liners and celebrity cameos like some sort of misguided Roseanne reunion special that doesn't even have the decency to feature both Beckys, naked, making out with each other. Not that there aren't one-liners, of course (this is a 1980s horror sequel), and the premise is fucking ridiculous (Chucky the killer doll mails himself to a military academy, where he befriends a thoroughly detestable knockoff of Webster) (yes, even more detestable than the actual Webster), but there are a couple of gruesome murders, the main chick's best friend is a hot redhead (I want her), there's not one but two scenes where Chucky is thrown into the garbage (an excellent idea deserves repeating), and, if the credits are to be believed, somewhere in this movie there's an actress named "Aimee Joy Slutske", and if she wasn't the most popular stripper working second shift at the IHOP, well, goddamn it, she deserved to be.

Aimee Joy Slutske, probably.
Unfortunately, even Aimee Joy Slutske's ostensible charms can't save this shitbasket of a movie, mainly because Chucky's intended victim is such a cloying, willfully obtuse little sneak-thief asshole that there's not a human being on Earth who will be rooting for his survival, which is kind of a problem when the entire plot hinges on rescuing him from a gruesome fate that he totally deserves. Seriously, he's the kind of kid that, when the surgeon says "We almost lost your son," his parents say "Try harder next time." If he were my child, our secret parental code word would be "hey kid, get in the van". It's a lie to say you'll never hate a small black child more because Rudy Huxtable still exists, but at least Rudy Huxtable ultimately grew up to star in porn. At least according to unattributed articles people keep posting on my Facebook feed.
Redheads! Contact me! I'm on the Facebook!

American Horror House (2012)

A clear riff on American Horror Story, a show that, at the time, hadn't yet descended into irredeemable, two-headed stupidity, this is yet another sorority house horror about bitchy, ugly sorority girls who are terrorized by several killer ghosts (including then-Florida governor Rick Scott) (trust me, it's the least of his evils), the victims of a mad slasher who's still creeping around, adding to their ranks. The kills are plentiful, gory, and stupid; it's about as scary as nuking a burrito; and the acting is on par with someone in a coma. Also, what is with the broad playing the violin instructor? How does someone who acts in sub-rent horror movies even afford that much plastic surgery? (Then again, she obviously got the budget package, so never mind.) Pretty much the sole bright spot is the main chick, primarily because she walks around in her underwear for an extended period of time:

This shot makes the movie look way better than it actually is.
One asshole even manages to flub the movie's best line ("Life's a bitch and so are you!")! It's a total crash & burn on every level, and bad even when compared to other sorority house movies. When you can't even live up to the lofty standards of something that usually has "National Lampoon's" appended to the title, you really need to pack up your fake blood and your underwear chicks and just go the fuck home.

Actually, feel free to leave one of those underwear chicks with me. I'll take either one of the blondes.
For more haunted hijinks, check out my book on haunted house movies, available here.

Monday, August 25, 2014

The Goonies 'R' Not Good Enough

Spielberg: "So here's the basic idea: it's like Indiana Jones, but for kids. We'll cast Rudy, Short Round, the dirty Corey, and some fat-ass as the core group (I know some of those references refer to movies that haven't even been produced yet, just bear with me here), plus an older kid so parents don't freak out, and a couple of teenage chicks for the dads to ogle. We'll make one just straight-up pants-wetting hot, and her friend more stealth-hot. So these kids are all gonna have to move soon because, I dunno, some nonsense. Maybe because of eminent domain, or... the local country club is expanding! That's it: asshole rich people. Like Caddyshack. So they decide to have one final adventure together after they find a map to pirate treasure that just happens to be hidden in the main kid's attic, except it turns out the map and the pirates and the treasure are real. Lots of people have tried to find it, but none of them were plucky kids with no frame of reference for finding the treasure or any experience whatsoever, so of course our kids are the ones who figure it all out. First though, they have to get past these crooks, who are camped out right over the treasure site. The crooks catch them snooping around, but after they watch one crook torment his mutant, deformed, retarded brother by singing to him in Italian, the crooks forget why they grabbed the kids in the first place and just let them go. The kids sneak back in to look for the treasure, but... Wait, you know what? The crooks should catch one of the kids. We'll make it the fat one. Fat kids don't run so fast. So anyway, they catch the fat kid but the other kids make it into this underground labyrinth that's like Indiana Jones meets, oh, I dunno? Dungeons & Dragons? Kids still like that shit, right? I put it in E.T. so they must. When shit starts to get heavy some of the kids balk and want to escape, and in one part I think it would be great if they bang on some pipes in an attempt to summon help and the pipes are connected to the very country club that's running the kids out. Then one of the country club toilets could explode in a geyser of water and put the head of the guy who's sitting on it comically through the ceiling! And hey, maybe it's even someone who was a jerk to the kids earlier! Classic! Regardless, our main kid delivers a big pep talk so everyone decides to forge ahead after all and despite several deathtraps -- like Indy, again -- they finally find the treasure. Wow! But then the crooks find them and it looks like all is lost until the mutant shows up and saves the day! Why? Well, he previously bonded with the fat kid over candy because -- ha ha! -- that kid is just so fat, right? Anyway, we'll throw in an octopus attack (if it doesn't work we can always edit it out, while failing to edit out later dialogue referring to it), some mild racism, maybe have a scene where the hot chick tongues down one of the younger kids... What's that called? Pedo-something? I'll look it up. At any rate, in the end there's lots of special effects and maybe something falls down and it seems like they've lost the treasure forever, but then they didn't and everyone's home is saved even though that really doesn't make any sense when you consider even a tiny percentage of the legal issues that would ensue. Oh, and at the very end the pirate ship lifts anchor and sails dramatically away because, fuck it, ghosts. Or the power of magic. Some bullshit. What do you think?"

Studio: "Yeah. That sounds great, Steven. Let's maybe have someone else direct this one, okay?"

Above: The real reason this movie is so fondly remembered.
For more reviews that aren't afraid to call bitch movies out, check out my many books here.

Thursday, May 22, 2014

Die Hard 3: Try Harder (The Novelization)

Die Hard 3 is one of cinema’s biggest piles of shit (Disagree? You’re wrong.), which is hardly surprising since it didn’t even start out as a Die Hard movie. See, the original plan was for Part 3 to feature terrorists seizing a cruise ship, only to run afoul of a vacationing Die Hard, and by all indications ("all indications" being the sentence I just wrote) it would’ve been awesome. Unfortunately, some assholes went and made the movie Under Siege, which was basically the same thing, so naturally they dropped that idea because Hollywood would never release two movies with a remarkably similar premise all but simultaneously. Instead, they took some random script nobody could be bothered with up to that point, cut/pasted Die Hard’s name into it, and shot that, completely ignoring the fact that the script in question was criminally retarded. I mean, come the fuck on - the big gimmick is that the bad guy baffles the entire NYC police force with riddles we all learned in grade school. Cops may be a lot of things (slack-asses, corrupt, thugs), but they aren’t stupid. It’s like laziness and hackwork had a baby, and then it shit all over you while you were holding it. Die Hard with an Anus does feature one brilliant scene though: the jaw-dropping bit where Die Hard is walking through Harlem wearing a sandwich board and it’s suddenly revealed that the sandwich board says "I hate niggers". So how does the novelization handle this tense yet hilarious scene? By bitching out and having the sign read "I hate everybody".

What. The. FUCK???

Look, I get it. As an African American myself (hey, as far as you know), I hate the N word too. And if that’s your beef, fine, have the sign say "I hate black people" or something. But don’t set the whole thing up and then punk out entirely at the last second, especially when you have no problem using racial slurs against white people just a few sentences later. Fucking hypocrite. Seriously, how swollen does your vagina have to be to turn you into such a sniveling, PC cunt? (Oh, and don’t try to pretend you changed this scene to protect the reader from "spoilers". If someone didn’t want a movie spoiled for them, they wouldn’t be reading the goddamned novelization.)

And it’s not like the writing gets any better as the story progresses. At one point Die Hard yells "Bomb!" and we’re told nobody is impressed because they’re jaded New Yorkers. Then, 23 pages later, he yells "Bomb!" again (it’s a different bomb) and everyone panics because "This was New York. Anything was possible." Does the author really think that we aren’t going to remember what he said just a few pages ago? How dumb does he think we are? Fuck you, asshole.

So this book licks bung, but it may still be of interest to some people, because like a lot of movie novelizations it contains scenes that weren’t included in the final version of the film, including the original ending where Die Hard and the main bad guy play Russian roulette with a rocket launcher. (This ending is incredibly stupid, by the way.) For my money though, the guy who wrote this ("D. Chiel", obviously a made-up name. Or part of one, anyway.) should stick to subjects he’s more familiar with. Maybe he could write a book called "Cry Hard".
I also write books. Check ‘em out.

Sunday, May 18, 2014

The Chair (2007)

Wow, the chickie-poo in this movie is a real cutie, and... is she on meds? Why, yes, yes she is. I think I'm in love. And it's a good thing she is so damn adorable, because this really is a movie about a house that's haunted by a goddamned chair. The first half hour or so is pretty spooky though, and I like how they made the main chick more curious than frightened, which at least gives her a plausible reason to keep hanging around the place. Eventually she gets possessed, and for a while the story grinds to a halt because all she does after this is stare out the window and eat cat food. She's like a hotter version of my grandmother. Finally she icepicks her ex-boyfriend in the noggin, and then she uses the aforementioned chair, which she's Rube Goldberged into some sort of unnecessarily-complicated torture device, to give her sister and some annoying little kid the business. The end is pretty stupid (How dumb is this kid? Why doesn't anybody call the cops? And that guy who shows up at the end, whose ass did he fall out of?), but overall it's totally worth catching just for the main chick; I can't remember the last time I crushed on an actress this hard. She's the type of girl who looks better lounging around in sweats than most women look in a $1000 cocktail dress. Especially my last wife, because when I found out she dropped a cool grand on one lousy cocktail dress her accessories ended up being two black eyes and a necklace made out of her own teeth.

For the last time, I promise not to put it
 on YouTube. Just take your clothes off.
For more on haunted house movies,check out my book Legendary House of Haunted Hell, available on Amazon.

Monday, April 28, 2014

Hellraiser Bonus: The Nine Finest Hellraiser Babes

Emma (Part 9)

Amy (Part 7)

Allison (Part 8)

Tiffany (Part 2)

Terri (Part 3)

Sandy (Part 3)

Junkie Cultists (Part 7)

Unidentified Extra (Part 3)

Horror: dissected and pushed down the stairs. The Mr. Satanism Library is available here.