Lucky Dearest

I've made no secrets about my enthusiasm for the work of Jack Ketchum and likewise, my frustrations with the general off-target film adaptations of his work. While I think both The Lost and The Girl Next Door have merit, there seems to exist some wall between cinema fully capturing what makes Ketchum such a powerfully horrifying writer. After the lackluster Offspring, I didn't expect much to come from his savage clan series but when a filmmaker as unique as Lucky McKee steps up, I take notice.

The Woman, a pseudo-sequel to 2009's Offspring, is now slowly making its way to randomly placed theaters and film festivals. It's a powerful film, one bravely oozing in the ugly examination of sexual violence, domestic abuse, misogyny, enslavement, and power washing. Naturally, such accusations make it prime grade meat for the Girls On Film to tackle, bibs in place and homemade sauce ready to go. Our discussion is quite spoilery, so you may want to save it until The Woman grunts her way to your television. The episode is waiting on iTunes or at over yonder.

On a more fashionable note, my GleeKast cohostess Erica and I recently sat down with The Podcast Podcast/Spread TB’s Fozziebare and his future husband George to watch an amazing little slice of cinema you might know as Mommie Dearest. Loyal readers wil know that I have a special relationship with this film...

And so it was more than a pleasure to share a viewing with others. You can download the commentary at iTunes or stream over here. We tell you when to press play, so listen along in your best red carpet ready gowns and remember to hang them up properly when finished.

Nerd Alert! Books Books Books (& Books)

I’m a slacker, but also something of a nerd. Some might even call me a nerdlacker. By ‘some’ I refer to ‘myself.’

See, I read a lot. I write a lot. I combine them sometimes, then forget that I did and end up with today’s post, i.e., a list of genre-esque books I read back in the summer through the fall. That’s my story and this nerdlacker is sticking to it.

Now please let me out of this locker. I have chess team practice and coach doesn’t tolerate tardiness.

The Conquerer Worms

Brian Keene is probably today’s most cinematic horror novelist. Of the three novels that I’ve read, each is drawn so vividly that you can see virtually every drip of blood and scrap of flesh on the page. Taking a break from his successful zombie fiction, The Conquerer Worms is a neat hybrid, part post-apocalyptic narrative and part monster mash.

As the back flap reads, one day, it started raining. And didn’t stop. Lots of bad stuff happened.

Okay, the back flap didn’t say that part. Sometimes I lie.

One half of the novel is narrated by a senior citizen fighting loneliness, desperation, and nicotine withdrawals on a West Virginia mountain as he quietly survives what his neighbors have not, namely, prehistoric worms slowly making their way to devour everything left on the earth’s surface. Eventually, the story switches to a mixed group eking out an existence in a Baltimore high rise hotel, all the while evading merciless Satanists, man-eating mermaids, and gigantic carnivorous sea creatures.

I’ve yet to be disappointed by Brian Keene’s writing. Though it starts a little slower than some of his other zombie fiction, The Conquerer Worms is a gripping tale that keeps you in constant suspense. Keene’s ability to use unique narrative voices is in full force, with Teddy Garnett’s wise old man making the reader easily emotionally involved. The second story lacks the same heart to put you on board with the characters, but it makes up for it with brutal storytelling that gets darker with each page. An easy recommendation.

The Bridge

Penned by ‘90s splatterpunk heroes Craig Skipp and John Spector, The Bridge tells the story of a Pennsylvania town on the edge of a pollution caused Armageddon. Gooey mutations ensue.

Though it suffers a little from trying to cover too many characters, The Bridge remains a fun summer page turner rich in gruesome carnage and icky monster imagery. It doesn’t read like poetry, but for a horror movie in your hands, it’s an enjoyable way to pass some time. 

The Exorcist

I’m a fairly easy person to make happy, but to really bring me to a state of bliss, throw a pile of slightly used books on the sidewalk with a sign that says ‘Free.” That’s how I picked up my paperback, coverless copy of William Peter Blatty’s infamous 1971 novel,  the very piece that spawned a somewhat popular movie with a killer third installment, The Exorcist.

To give a disclaimer, of course I’ve seen The Exorcist but sadly, it was at the wrong time in my life. I grew up with horror so it didn’t seem inappropriate to rent the VHS in fourth grade. Unfortunately, it was probably the worst possible age. At 10, I was too young to get some of the sexuality and despite a minor Catholic education, not quite old enough to fully grasp the religious aspects involved. Meanwhile, my soiled elementary school eyes had already witnessed their share of zombie mayhem and slasher guttings, rendering some of the violence tame by my then-standards. I’d seen Karen Cooper get zombified then slaughter her mother with a garden spade, both in color and black and white. Why should I care about one rich girl fighting a demon who didn’t have anything better to do? 

There are two main observations I made in comparing Blatty’s novel to Friedken’s Oscar nominated film (you know, the one that according to Kristen Stewart’s Oscar writers, was the last horror film to come near winning a little gold man except...stop it, nerdlacker). The first is just how closely the script follows its source, straight down to the infamous spider walk and crucifix masturbation. On the other side is how much more psychologically based the novel feels, as more pages are devoted to a faith vs. reason debate than gore. It makes perfect sense that Blatty would later go on to direct The Exorcist III, a film filled with powerful imagery, engaging dialogue, and open questions about the nature of evil.

But as much as I would kind of love to always talk about The Exorcist III, I think the title of this post is supposed to be devoted to books. So read the book, then see The Exorcist III.

Community service, you’ve been served!

Cover

Many of you already know of my love and admiration for the fictional horrors of one Jack Ketchum. Between his gruesome novels and deeply chilling short stories, he is, without doubt, my favorite genre writer.

Cover tells the tale of Lee Moravin, a Vietnam vet whose psychological war scars are so deep that he simply can’t live with others. Left alone in the woods with a loyal dog (seriously, no one writes man’s relationship with his pets quite like Ketchum) and a thriving marijuana farm, Lee rotates between woodsy solitude and violent flashbacks. 

Meanwhile, a group of middle aged literary yuppies (plus a surprisingly well-drawn supermodel) take an innocent wilderness weekend trip just outside Lee’s territory. In no time, Lee declares the city slickers his Nam enemies and plots a vicious hunting spree. 

Cover is not my favorite Ketchum read, but it’s brisk and fairly addictive. Lee is a fascinatingly tragic figure, a sympathetic man who’s seen some of the worst sights imaginable. In another plot, he could be a hero, yet once our ‘civilized’ campers enter his borders, he’s a bloodthirsty killer we can’t possibly root for. The balance Ketchum achieves in drawing both sides as real people dropped into the wrong situation is horrifying and believable. In no way is this the most fun you’ll have with a book, but for darker days, it’s a high recommend.

On the Beach

I’m not exactly sure why I find so much enjoyment in reading depressing sagas about the end of the world, but let’s just look past the psychology to discuss 1957’s On the Beach, a twice-filmed novel set just after a worldwide skirmish has brought upon Armageddon. Nuclear fallout has left a rash of radiation in the air and as surely as the wind blows, every drop of human life will eventually--months, weeks, days--be killed.

Set in Australia (one of the last reaches to receive the pollution), On the Beach focuses on a few key characters trying to make the most of their final days. An American naval officer continues to live as if his family is alive, even though nobody has heard a breath of life from US soil in months. If he could face the truth, he’d surely fall for the twentysomething unmarried (and doomed to die alone) local girl who struggles to find anything worth living for when there’s nothing that can be started and completed in the time remaining. A young couple raises their newborn without consequence until factors call for the dreaded suicide pill discussion. There are deadly auto races that let the brave go out in a flame of glory. Some people prefer to drink themselves to death.

Depressing, sure, but also fascinating and told with intelligent restraint. Author Nevil Shute was predominantly known for military literature and though some of that does show up on the more naval-based pages, On the Beach is much more about character and humanity than submarines. Though a few officers discuss responsibility and world politics, the novel focuses far more on the individual reactions to what war has left. The result is a haunting tale I couldn’t put down.

Love the One You're With

If you’ve read anything about Deadgirl, a first time effort by co-directors Marcel Sarmiento and Gadi Harel, you may be expecting an unwatchable piece of exploitation rich in zombie rape and I Spit On Your Grave levels of depravity. You’d be wrong on two counts, since 1) I Spit On Your Grave is a film I’ll defend for other reasons and 2) Deadgirl is actually a haunting, disturbing, and somewhat restrained little film that’s far stronger than its premise could have damned it to be.

Quick Plot: High school stoners JT (Noah Segan) and Rickie (Shiloh Fernandez) cut school one day to hang out in the local abandoned asylum (was my suburban hometown the only place in America that didn’t have of these, by the way?). Upon tossing around some rolling chairs and chugging unbranded cans of beer, the boys come upon a bolted room and a beautiful corpse chained inside. Rickie is freaked out. JT is aroused. 

The next day, Rickie returns to find JT has drawn his own conclusions about the “Deadgirl”: she’s undead and has been left all alone. Rickie remains horrified but has no idea how to pry his best friend’s um, attention, away from what seems like a gift from the gods. As children of broken homes in a small town with no future, JT and Rickie are aware that they have little else going for them. The don’t catch the attention of the ladies--not the fleshy Daisy Dukes-donning gas station pumper and certainly not Rickie’s unrequited crush of a cute redhead dating the token jockjerk. For JT and later, their even more fried friend Wheeler, life has never been better than having a gorgeous, complacent, full grown woman tied to a table for their personal pleasure. The more sensitive Rickie, on the other hand, knows it’s wrong but isn’t quite ready to alienate his best friend (and sadly, the only thing he seems to have in his life) over a corpse.

I worry my synopsis of Deadgirl is still making the film sound a tad homemade pornish, but it is a surprisingly sensitive film. I can’t downplay the subject matter and indeed, there are some extremely uncomfortable scenes that some filmgoers won’t make it through. Overall, however, Deadgirl is disturbing and thoughtful, not exploitive and gratuitous. The most horrific moments are found in JT’s increasingly distant dialogue, while the actual sex is portrayed with appropriately un-erotic staging. Think of the non-cathartic nature of the torture scenes in The Girl Next Door, as opposed to the more heavily stylized scenes that tend to rear their glossy heads in mainstream cinema.

Overall, Deadgirl has the feel of a short story in a zombie anthology mixed with an indie drama about small town youth. The performances are a tad inconsistent (perhaps there’s only so much Candice Accola can do with Charlie Brown’s Little Redheaded Girl role compared to Segan’s creepily macabre JT and Fernandez’s likable enough RIckie) but hold steady enough to sell a film that depends so much on its characters. There are some truly memorable images, such as Deadgirl’s overly makeup’d face which is, one scene later, covered with a magazine cutout that recalls Claire’s Season 4 collage work in Six Feet Under.

High Points

We’ve seen zombies as everything from choreographed two-steppers to Olympian sprinters and softball players, so it’s pretty impressive to see a film that brings something new not just to an undead-themed story, but also in its creepily haunting depiction of the “Deadgirl,” aided by Jenny Spain’s careful performance.

Abandoned asylums make everything better

It’s refreshing to see a film about teenagers that doesn’t force trendy lingo or pop culture references into their mouths. There’s nary a cell phone or high speed Internet connection to be found, and it adds a strange timeliness that make Deadgirl work for any era

Low Points

Although occasionally evocative, the score calls attention to itself far too often

First of all, is it a requirement for all high school films to feature a character named Johnny? Next, does Johnny always have to be played by an actor pushing 30?

Lessons Learned

Abduction is far more difficult than it looks, unless you’re the big man on campus and you’re throwing two stoners into your trunk in the middle of school recess

Oh, boys. Do I really have to tell you to be careful where to put your valuables?

Meat left in the open will spoil***

Winning Line

“I wish I was 15 again.”

“I’m 17.”

“Man, I wish I was 15 again.”

I actually really love this quick exchange between Rickie and his mother’s girlfriend, played by the solid character actor Michael Bowen. It captures the lack of adult influences on Rickie and his friends, but more importantly, it quietly points out that 17 is indeed a different point of life

Rent/Bury/Buy

Deadgirl is currently on Netflix’s Instant Watch, so give it a try when you’re in the mood for a serious, dark, and deep ride into a mean mean place. The production values are top notch so if you can get behind the characters and survive the idea of what you will see, then I recommend a tryout. It almost has a Jack Ketchum-y feel that’s been numbed by some IFC serum. It won't brighten your day, but it will provide a thoughtfully unsettling film experience worthy of your time.

***A personal story: When I was in high school, every health class was forced to undergo the inevitable STD slideshow which was fabulous on every level. First, the teacher (who apparently freelanced with this lesson plan all over Long Island) asked us to raise our hands if we planned on going away to college. Without any irony or exception, she pointed to the 90% of the class and claimed that each and every one of us would get crabs, because that’s what happens when you share a toilet. This was followed by magnified shots of just what crabs are and what they do, which in turn was followed by one of the school jocks--sadly not named Johnny--trotting outside and returning with a very reddened face.

Have a Yabba Dabba Doo Death

Stephen King may be the mainstream go-to for horror literature, but when it comes to fiction that digs into your soul and chips away at your sense of what’s right in the world, pick up a Jack Ketchum book. From vividly gruesome novels riddled with torn limbs to stories that break your heart in less than ten pages without a drop of spilled blood, his work never fails to make me reach for reliable reassurance with a hug from my cat or cuddle with the old Pound Puppy. 

In theory, much of his work comes ready-made for film adaptations. Early novels like Off Season leap off the page with visceral violence screaming for some handy makeup effects, while The Lost could easily be a good actor’s dream role along the lines of De Niro’s Travis Bickle. 2009‘s Offspring marks the fourth attempt to bring Ketchum’s words to the screen, and like The Girl Next Door and The Lost (I can’t speak for Red as it’s still making its way up my queue), it works on some levels while failing to capture the true horror of its source material. 

Quick Plot: The ominously named Dead River, Maine, is about to be revisited by a clan of savage cave cannibals who made their mark eleven years earlier (for reference, read Off Season, Ketchum’s 1980 debut novel which for rights reasons, couldn’t be filmed) by snatching a few babies and devouring a lot of adults. After a gooey prologue introduces the hungry clan, we meet The Brood’s Art Hindle as a weathered policeman coming out of retirement to lend a hand to the helpless police force. Meanwhile, our civilian protagonists are introduced as genuine nice people. The omnivores include Amy and David Halbard, a nerdily sweet young couple with a cute newborn, their visiting friend Claire Carey, and her resourceful son Luke. The latter two are in the midst of dealing with financial woes caused by Stephen Carey, an alcoholic, abusive, and tax-evading father who abandoned them months earlier but is now en route to do even more damage. 

What makes Offspring work--both on page and screen--is the attention given to developing its characters. In most cannibals-hunting-normal-people films, humans exist as mere meat just waiting to be served. Here, the Halbards, Careys, and, to a lesser extent, Hindle’s George Peters are actual people well-deserving of our sympathies. This makes the first attack incredibly effective. Watching feral children gut innocent suburbanites is always going to stir up some emotions in its audience, but when we actually like said victims, it’s truly horrifying. 

One of the most disturbing elements of Offspring, however, is its civilized villain, Stephen. Actor Erick Kastel gives this yuppie sadist a nice sense of misogyny that toes a line between forced evil and true psychopathy. Like in the novel, one of the strongest scenes has nothing to do with hunting knives or hatchets. Stephen picks up a perky hitchhiker, only to quickly unnerve her with nastiness. It’s a nice early twist that further infuses Offspring with a sense of wrongness, much in the way The Girl Next Door features a creepy ant war that works to unsettle the audience before digging into the main action. 

The sense of savagery inside Offspring is at times aided by its low budget and lack of studio rating. Children are shot, babies are tossed, and many a stomach is torn apart in a manner that would most likely have had the MPAA seething. The biggest complaint a lot of viewers will mostly likely have is the low quality camera work that feels nearly homemade. Occasionally, this works for artistic reasons (such as Stephen’s first meeting with the demolition-happy cannibals as he storms away in his Porsche) but unfortunately, some of the actual editing stunts the action by lingering in all the wrong spots. Director Andrew van den Houten doesn’t seem to have any real eye for shooting scenes or building suspense. It’s possible to defend some of the visuals and lack of build-up as modern exploitation, but as you watch Offspring, it feels much more along the lines of sloppy filmmaking.

But as far as the horror goes, Offspring works at grounding itself in one awful night of slaughter. Ketchum himself penned the script and it’s obvious he retained most of his own character work in shaping the victims. The clan, on the other hand, is a mixed bag of effectiveness: evil and athletic children are sufficiently rotten, and  schoolteacher Ed Nelson’s performance as Cow (the crazed and imprisoned sex toy of the group) is quite creepy. Pollyanna McIntosh comes off best as the leading matriarch, but the entire look of these horrific man-eaters feels...well...costume store sponsored. I was more impressed by the fact that Second Stolen’s metal rock wig stayed on when she tossed her hair than I was by her self flagellation. I understand that a limited budget wouldn’t quite capture the nipple belt so well described on the page, but it’s a shame to see these potentially nightmare-inducing creations end up looking like a family dressing up like the Flintstones for Halloween, but forgetting to take their costumes off come Thanksgiving.

High Points

All the gore--and there is a lot--is quite well done, always grossing you out and never inspiring you to pass the ketchup

You can’t underestimate the importance in fleshing out (no pun intended; I need to stop this Crypt Keeper business before I corn myself to death) the characters. With a few gaps here and there, the lead performances are all very solid in creating actual people, thus making their brutal attacks as sad as they are frightening

Low Points

So much about the technical filmmaking misses the mark. For one, the coloring never seems to make up its mind. The hellish cave is too orange, creating a campfire feel rather than a disgustingly bone-filled home base of killer cannibals

Even though I read Offspring less than a year ago, the motivations of the clan were hazy at best. I only remembered the fact that the older children were named “First Stolen” and “Second Stolen” because of the IMDB listing. Knowing that these horrid creatures were once kidnapped babies is a huge part of the novel that adds weight to the newly kidnapped children, but in the film, none of this disturbing backstory comes across. 

Lessons Learned

If you need to escape from an entire town’s police force, simply trot into the woods while they watch you waving their fists

Everybody in New England carries a full flask

Kicking a corpse will not bring it back to life

Don’t expect the 16 year old babysitter to successfully defend your newborn against a feral clan of baby-eating cannibals

Knives are very noisy when pulled out of stomachs

Rent/Bury/Buy

Word of mouth has been pretty turgid for Offspring, but I found it to be an entertaining little slice of 90 minutes. In no way does it fully capture the horrific nature of the novel, but it does offer more than a few moments to unsettle jaded DVD renters. I can see many a cynical horror fan picking more bones with the look and general feel of this film, but I guess those who want to like it will find more than enough to enjoy in a sitting. Whereas The Girl Next Door remains a chilling and troubling film with each subsequent viewing, Offspring’s power lays more in its action, making it most likely a one-watch for the majority of horror fans. The loaded DVD includes a detailed behind-the-scenes featurette, commentary, and a few more little goodies worth checking out. I’m partial to the making-of documentary, where we get to watch the final kid-on-kid battle in a split screen with the child actors’ parents looking on with pride, horror, and gum snaps.  

Rock That Shock

Ahhhhh, conventions. If ever there was a playground for the kids that usually hid under bleachers during recess to play in, these would be it. This past Sunday, my dear friend Erica and I crashed Massachusetts’ Rock & Shock for some celebrity spotting, obscure DVD shopping, and confidence boosting due to the generous population of people less attractive and socially skilled than myself. Highlights included:

-Sharing NY bagels with Bill, Chris, and Mel of Outside the Cinema 


-Coming off like a giddy fangirl, then reining it in to have a genuine conversation with Jack Ketchum. The man who, in the past year, has pretty much become my favorite author was quite gracious and amiable about discussing his work and I’m supremely excited to read his latest collection of short stories, Closing Time. This anthology contains a few stories that appeared in a book I often rave about, Peaceable Kingdom, which is currently out of print. I'm thrilled to have these stories back and even more excited to read some new ones.

-Pitching new film projects for the awesomely good-humored Corbin Bernsen to tackle. Since The Dentist sequels are tied up in rights issues, Erica and I suggested the former Roger Dorn take on other professions in the medical field, such as The Orthodontist, The Chiropractor, The Podiatrist and The Proctologist

-Discovering that Malcolm McDowell sports a mean ascot

-Picking up a trio of DVDs: one I truly love (Tourist Trap), one I’ve been waiting for with great expectations (UK’s Dead Set) and one that will probably be awful, but having read the short story, could not be resisted by me (Rawhead Rex)

-Observing the fact that Tom Savini’s son is quite possibly the antichrist. This may be a cruel statement to make about a 6 year old, but the boy was literally sitting inside a garbage can and pointing to another which read “Photos: $3.” This was apparently following the sugar rush the day before, wherein I’ve been told the kid spent most of the afternoon stealing candy from the OTC table

-Chatting with the Crypt Keeper himself, Mr. John Kassir, who seemed genuinely (and deservedly) proud of his work on one of my favorite television shows of all time and shared some interesting tidbits about how the writers adjusted the character over time to suit his clever interpretation

-Being told that Jesus loved me by Jason Mewes, who was very sweet when he had to leave the show a tad early to smoke a cigarette

-”Interviewing” the one and only Kane Hodder for OTC, a 5 minute or so clip wherein I asked Jason VI-X what he learned from taking Manhattan and if he’d ever lost a fight to a short man. The recording should be available through OTC’s feed soon, so Terry Gross has a little time to up her game before I zoom in to seize her headphones. Note this will be done by brute physical force and not interviewing skills because on that front, I’m about as talented as Arsenio Hall. Still, enjoy the sound bites and the sound of me trying to figure out how to hold a microphone.

Overall, we had a blast and I send a giant round of thanks to Erica for driving and being such a hot date, Bill, Chris, and Mel for being such awesome company, and the Rock and Shock show for doing it right. Also, I’ll thank the tanks of tarantulas ($20 each, if you’re interested) simply to not make them angry at me should they ever escape. We’ll be hitting Jersey’s Chiller Theater up for Halloween weekend (in between a costume themed wedding and profuse candy corn consumption) so hopefully there’ll be another round of random conventionness in another two weeks. 

The world is truly a beautiful place.

Help Me...Kill the Fly(s)

It may be cooling down up here in New York, but tell that to the sudden gang of musca domestica currently loitering in my apartment. Following an unsuccessful (though quite inglorious) lecture to my cats in my Lt. Aldo Raine voice, I spent about two hours swatting my walls with more fervor than Homer Simpson on Wacking Day. 

Naturally, this early hunting season got me thinking about where these winged little monsters fit in the realm of horror cinema. Since most don’t bite or have photogenic faces, the choices are not surprisingly limited but still, I submit my list:

Psycho

Who can forget the iconic last scene of Hitchcock’s classic, the grandmother of all slashers? Tucked under a blanket, a now catatonic Norman Bates stares ahead as a housefly buzzes around the head leased out to the spirit of his overbearing mother. Sure, she’s not a fan of hygienic blonds, but I guarantee you’ll never find Mama Bates’ fingerprints on a swatter.

The Fly 1958

If I were to make a list of the most disturbing scenes of all time, you can bet a beehive that the final moment of  Kurt Neuman's sci-fi horror classic would edge out any 70s midnight gang rape or scatological torture fest. There’s something that never fails to send sharp chills up my spine every time I see that closeup of a man-fly mummified in a silky spider web, shrieking in terror as a magnified arachnid approaches its prey. Is it the Munchkin-like plea for help? The fuzzy detail on the predator’s eight-eyed face? Or the mere fact that poor Andre Delambre’s best case scenario is to be crushed to death by a rock. Whatever the answer, those 45 seconds remain a nightmare, no matter how many legs you have.

The Lost

...and speaking of disturbing films...

This 2005 adaptation of Jack Ketchum’s novel is essentially a character study of one charismatic, insecure, attention craving psychopath. If you didn’t get that Ray Pye  was a human monster by the opening scene (where he guns down two innocent females simply because they may or may not be lesbians), then leave it to those pesky parasites to cue us in. Like a taller Pigpen with a shotgun license, Pye is constantly followed by an entourage of insects. We never actually see the flies, but a sublte, yet definitely audible buzz accompanies Pye throughout the film, particularly when his unstable blood seems to boil. There's no explanation for the sound, but the decision sends a clear message about the sheer wrongness of a man about to explode like an exterminator's flea bomb.

Phenomena

Before she danced with the Goblin King or survived Russel Crowe's mood swings, a teenaged Jennifer Connelly starred in this 1986 low fat giallo directed by Dario Argento, where she played a lonely exchange student whose only real friends are Donald Pleasance, his pet monkey, and creepy crawlers. While trying to survive a snooty prep school and solve a few murders, Connelly keeps her whithering sanity by smiling at the kind of things we normally step on. You may remember the striking movie poster and cover art where Connelly's face is half covered by (drum roll) flies! You'd think this would be a major scare factor of the film, but the spiders, wasps, and other multi-appendaged creatures play only a supporting role, occasionally making quick appearances to help our heroine navigate through murder scenes and elude a psychotic murderer. It's an interesting red herring of sorts in one of Argento's restrained, yet very solid little film.

Buffy the Vampire Slayer

Despite the presence of Paul Reubens, Rutger Hauer, and future Oscar winner/90210 regular HIlary Swank Josh Whedon’s first foray with California’s favorite undead huntress is, to put it simply, not good. So why does it make this (admittedly reaching-for-straws) list? Mostly because it contains a trick I've dreamed of carrying out: spitting a thumb tack at a wall and impaling a fly in the process. Sure, there are other ways to impress your friends or principal--like earning good grades or crushing beer cans on your head--but getting Dwight Gooden-like aim with a lethal pushpin? That's the true path to popularity.

The Fly 1986

You'll often find Cronenberg's doomed love story/ickily frightening classic battling John Carpenters's The Thing for best remake of all time, and rightfully so. Few films occupying the horror shelf contain such a perfect combination of sadness and terror and not surprisingly, we can put all the blame squarely on those flying black bodied buzzers. Just like its predecessor, this version features an earnest--if also romantically insecure--scientist attempting to teleport himself, only to be hampered by one tiny stowaway with a dynamic combination of DNA. Rather than the wacky trading places of the original, Jeff Goldblum's Seth Brundle and the unnamed insect get to mesh. After some parallel bar hijinks to rival Kevin Bacon's Footloose gymnast routine, Brundle's body morphs into a 6' tall oozing, sugar eating/regurgitating/eating again creature that can neither keep its dangly parts nor shake its love of leggy auburn haired journalists. Favorite fly-ish moments? Tough call. Is it Geena Davis' nightmarish childbirth scene that makes women around the world turn down any advances coming from a man with coarse body hair? Goldblum's heartbreaking self discovery about becoming a fly who dreamed that he was a man? The best arm wrestling scene of all time (said as I duck punches from the Hands of Steel). All are remarkable enough, but for me, it's that final moment where a now unrecognizable Brundle stares into the barrel of a shotgun held by the weeping Davis, his inhuman eyes saying everything his nonexistant tongue now can't.

Mosquitoes may have their bites and bees their stingers, but for now, let's take comfort in the shortened life cycle of the annoying, if harmless housefly. And Hollywood, take note: when I'm reaching into the pocket of Kristy Swanson's Buffy, you know you need to start making more films.