The Best Way to Study = Not Being a Jerk

Remember when nerds took vengeance via panty raids and peeping tommery? Thems were the good old days...

Quick Plot: Fed up with being teased and occasionally abused, a group of outcast teenagers plot an intricate night of vengeance against the popular kids. The nerdy ringleader just so happened to inherit a rural farmhouse, making it oh-so-easy to throw a mysterious costume party where only the jocks and cheerleaders are invited. Before you can say pig's blood and ruffled collars, the nerds have the pretty people drugged and shackled for an evening of face melting, finger chopping, and paralysis.

The Final is a tough film to review. As the directorial debut for the industry experienced Joey Stewart, it's certainly well-made and far sharper than a whole lot of Netflix Instant's other horror offerings. Jason Kabolati's script is also better than expectation, giving us a few stand-out characters (including a genuinely nice guy clique circulator played in a refreshing touch by a black actor) with maybe self-aware dialogue that generally falls flat ("All's fair in sex and high school" is clearly something a screenwriter, not 17 year old would say). There's also a fun black and white framing device that sets a unique stylized mood. I would have rather seen more of that within the body of the otherwise fairly by-the-numbers The Final, but any breath of fresh air is appreciated when you're dealing with high school horror.

That being said, I can't really say I 'enjoyed' The Final. See, it does that thing that I generally despise in movies: it acts MEAN. 

Our outcasts-turned-killers offer very little in terms of sympathy. Yes, they're unfairly bullied, but unfortunately, we're never given any real glimpse into who they are. The ringleader is just cold, and while actress Lindsay Seidel brings a warm vulnerability to her Strangers-masked victim, there's nothing else to really know about her. There are about three others who blend in with hardly any screentime and no backstory. On one hand, I could write this off as the movie trying to make us see only what their cruel tormenters see. On the other, I feel like I'm just making an excuse for poor character development.

High Points

In addition to the retro framing device, there are a few more interestingly styled choices that makes The Final stand out from the herd of high school horror flicks, including a Charlie Brown/Muppet Babies* approach to never showing any parent in full frame

Creepy masks!

Low Points

In a film that has its unloved characters make such a point about their bullies not getting to know them, I guess I just really wish that the film, well, got to know these kids

Lessons Learned

Red meat is for people who don’t care how they look

Never attend a party if you didn't get an invitation

If you're feeling sick or fat, just remember: things always perk up after a night of drinking and hot sex

Chekhov's Rule of Bear Traps

You can't set one up without seeing it go off in the third act!

Rent/Bury/Buy

The Final is perfectly fine a low maintenance stream on Netflix Instant. As a teen horror film, it's decently made and offers some new touches that you don't normally find in what can be a very rote genre. By no means is it anything particularly groundbreaking or perfectly executed, but in this day and age, it's nice to see some energy from new horror filmmakers.

*An Aside

Remember when any popular form of children's entertainment could be seen ON ICE? As a child, I recall seeing an advertisement for such a program featuring Muppet Babies and longed to see for myself what Nanny's head actually looked like, considering the cartoon would only give us glimpses of her kneecaps down. In my mind, they HAD to have an actual FIGURE SKATER playing the part, meaning I would finally learn the truth about her face or lack thereof. Though I doubt the show actually revealed this, allow me to use this space to make a 25+ years in the making plea:

IF ANYONE SAW MUPPET BABIES ON ICE, HOW DID THEY SHOW NANNY?!

Thank you for your time and consideration. 

2011 Awards, Emily Style

Hey, not every movie can be awards chloroform like The Artist or Hugo. Some need a little help, even if they already have Mickey Rourke's badass headgear Nicholas Cage's non-accent-in-a-period-film to help them out. Hence, head over to the Gentlemen's Blog to Midnite Cinema for my very own version of the Emily Oscars. There will be clowns, there will be brazen bulls, there will even be Muppets, but sadly there will never, never ever never, be enough dinosaurs.

Go figure out what I mean.

I'm a Fat Guy!

I've got things to say folks, things that cannot always be contained through silent type. Hence, be prepared for an assault of my ACTUAL voice today when I guest star on Kevin Carr's fantastic film podcast/radio show, Fat Guys At the Movies. Each week, Kevin rounds up reviews and predictions on all the new releases hitting the theater and on Episode 226, I join in!

Be prepared for some prolonged discussion on Conan the Barbarian, One Day, Fright Night, Chris Sarandon's sexy toes, Heather Morris' glorious breasts, John Waters' innate magic, cinema's best vampire hunters, the best casino in Las Vegas, Step Up 3D, my childhood filmmaking career, The Muppets Take Manhattan, and goodness knows what else. Download it here or head to iTunes to subscribe for free. 


Enjoy your weekend kiddos and kiddettes. I promise to return next week with even more audio treasure. 

Hint. Hint. Hint.

Brain Bugs! Strippers! Cheetahs! Ninjas! & Muppets!

It is my belief that the world can never have enough conversations about the cinematic canon of Paul Verhoeven. Yes, I’m constantly saddened by the decreasing popularity of drive-in movie theaters, library cards, English grammar, and international peace, but really, all those problems would be solved if people just spent more time watching and talking about Verhoeven movies.

But where, you cry, can I find such audio treasures? Well, this neat little trend known as the Internet is proving itself to be quite the resource, as this week, I bring you not just one but two free podcasts covering some of the funnest films of all time.

First up is Girls On Film Radio, a biweekly(ish) roundtable where myself and a few ladies headed by Rach of RachOnFIlm(.blogspot.com) engage in meaty film discussion about nothing less than the best bug squishing cinema of all time, Starship Troopers. Also, we cover the Shaw Brothers’ 5 Element Ninjas (aka Chinese Super Ninjas) which somehow leads me to quote The Muppets Take Manhattan. There’s also talk about the horrors of bra shopping, proving that we’re the most well-rounded assortment of females you’re likely to find watching action cinema.

Meanwhile, those looking for more audio boob talk can head to Chinstroker vs. Punter, a 100 plus episode and running film podcast hosted by two lovely British chaps, Mike and Paul. For their 110th episode, they put aside the pains of a Revolutionary defeat to host my presence on a Showgirls extravaganza, Ver-sase and denim fringe prominently displayed. It’s a great conversation with two fantastic pod presences and once again, it somehow leads me to cite Kermit’s New York City adventures.

Don't ask. Just listen.

The 12 Scares of Christmas

As I continue to dig through a seemingly unending pile of Santa slashers, I'm slowly coming to the conclusion that the yuletide season is far more hostile holiday than Hallmark wants us to believe. Case in point: the following list of Christmas (and for politically inclusive reasons, Hanukah) horrors just waiting to send us running for cover into the quiet calm of Martin Luther King Jr. Day. 

12. Inflatable Lawn Ornaments 

I despise these things more than phoned-in covers of Christmas carols, and not just because I find them a lazy means of decorating. In my wildest fantasies, I assume these colorfully conformist balloons have been slowly building up helium fueled frustration over 1) being deflated half the month 2) stuffed in boxes 91% of the year and 3) looking dumb. How will they seek vengeance? Easy. Ever notice how no suburban lawn has just ONE? It’s not just that decorating is addictive: the inflatable lawn ornaments want it that way. Why? Power in numbers. I give it three more years before they start deflating over the heads of unsuspecting carolers, absorbing each do-gooder like The Blob and growing stronger with every verse.  


11. Unclear Gifting Policies 

Sometimes, it’s the everyday discomfort that provides us with more anxiety than any Nazi created superelf or axe-wielding St. Nick. Like a poorly translated adaptation of The Gift of the Magi, many an office drone, second cousin, or waving neighbor can spend a good deal of December wondering whether to purchase a gift for a casual acquaintance. Buy one and you risk looking too friendly; forget and you come off as a careless jerk. It may not be the stuff that Black Christmas is made of, but dealing with the awkwardness of ill-defined relationships is a horror rife for plenty of stress-induced nightmares.  

10. Ice

Depending on your location, snow is one more deadly tool on the heavily stocked belt of wrathful winter. Since mutant killer snowmen is a topic all of its own, let’s instead consider the very physical danger of H2O served a degree too cold. Drivers must master the art of steering into the slide in order to survive, an act which violates basic human instinct and never seems to work anyway. Pedestrians must constantly rotate their vigilance between dodging daggerish icicles and slippery patches of shimmering black ice. Don’t get me started on the inevitable skating rink excursion that undoubtedly ends in minor injury or worse, The Good Son/Orphan-esque cracks into hell frozen over. Avoid it like fruitcake. 

9. The Shopping Mall Santa Experience

One of the first things we learn as children is to not talk to strangers. Second is usually the heartbreaking lesson about not taking the candy they hand out so freely. So what do our parents do in between Cinnabon iced cappuccinos and Panda Express combos with fountain soda? Force our little bottoms on the germ-infested kneecaps of a complete unknown, who proceeds to grip our waists and ask us about our naughtiness over the past year. After posing for a poorly lit photo, he--or sometimes, ANOTHER stranger often wearing tights and short shorts--hands us a candy cane from the dusty netherworld that is his magical sack. While I like to imagine most shopping centers check their employees' references before handing over a month's worth of access to a community's children, cynicism and Billy Bob Thorton have taught me to be very wary of anybody wearing a synthetic beard.

8. Menorahs 

Simply because they imply open flames, which is a fire hazard any time, much less for seven whole days and eight nights (when people are sleeping and thereby even more in danger of negligence)  

7. Reindeer Bullies 

According to many a claymation special and library book, Christmas is about good will to men, joy on earth, and lots of singing. Why then does the grand master of ceremonies employ such mean-spirited, verbally abusive elitists as his high profile chauffeurs? Imagine, if you will, poor Rudolph’s fate had there never been “one foggy Christmas Eve.” Sure, he may still have gone down in history, but something tells me such a tale would involve more rifle shots atop the North Pole tower than gleeful prancing with orthodontic elves. Also, reindeer have been known to run down old ladies without leaving a note. I don’t like to fear for my grandmothers.  

6. Chimneys 

Eleven months of the year, anybody with a working fireplace probably doesn’t realize he or she has a working fireplace. Then December rolls around, you decorate your mantle, and the kids start asking questions. “How does Santa fit?” “Why are you lighting the log on December 24th?” “Why is Gremlins rated PG?” It’s Phoebe Cates’ infamous monologue in that yuletide classic that reminds us just how fatal those rectangular roasting plants truly are.  

5. Malls

See last week’s column for a more thorough analysis of the hellishness that is a major shopping center in December. Still, no discussion of the horrors of yule are complete without considering the close quarters demanded by the season. Between the spread of airborne diseases (or worse, if you’re an employed elf like in David Cronenberg’s Rabid) from hacking customers, the bacteria-ridden dollar bills handed back by disgruntled employees, and the traffic you’ll encounter heading home, killer robot security guards and eight foot tall tarantulas seem more inviting than a gingerbread house. 

4. A Christmas Carol 

I have nothing but love for Charles Dickens’ original novella and the many fine film adaptations it has spawned. Still, at the heart of this morality tale is a haunting ghost story rich in desolate poverty, cancerous self isolation, and the poisonous nature of capitalism. Even the wrong-side-of-the-tracks Rizzo the Rat couldn’t stomach the final act, wherein a Bergmanesque before Bergman Grim Reaper shows Ebenezer Scrooge just how lethal a misanthropic path can be. Sure, every version features a happy ending where leading men (and sometimes women or ducks) get to dance and shout with joy, but it takes one dark and somber ride to get there. 

3. The Must-Have Toy 

Not only did the very idea of Tickle-Me-Elmo seriously injure Arnold “Jingle All the Way” Schwarzenegger’s action star cred, it also led manufacturers to spearhead an annual ambush of saturating--actually, teasing--the market with always expensive, often baffling, and sometimes terrifying creations of evil toymakers’ fancies (Furbies, shudder). It’s a nasty ploy that does little more than turn child against parent, parent against paycheck, and ravenous consumers against all that’s good in human nature. Then again, without Cabbage Patch Kids, we’d probably never have Gremlins, so I guess we can accept the idea as a necessary evil.


2. The Big Brotherness of Santa Claus

Silent Night, Deadly Night. Santa’s Slay . Christmas Evil . Santa Claws. There’s a reason most holiday-themed horror films cast Kris Kringle as a villain with an all-too literal take on his naughty list. It’s the very idea of one man who “sees you when you’re sleeping” deciding the fate of children across the world, judging their character and invading their homes to carry out his decree. Look at 1959’s rather terrible film, Santa Claus (or better yet, just watch the MST3K coverage for a far better time) to see what I always envisioned the demigod’s lair to look like: a control station filled with security cameras that trace the movements of every child eligible for stocking stuffers.  

1. Carol of the Bells 

Beautifully melodic, harmoniously haunting, aggressively threatening. This popular Christmas carol is a staple of church choirs, middle school glee clubs, and animated specials but listen to a good cover while shivering in the dark on a cold winter’s night and watch the hairs on your blanket wrapped arm rise in fear. There’s something about the forceful accenting that feels oddly confrontational, with the minor key composing lending a vaguely menacing mood that builds with each verse. If the high notes were solidified, I firmly believe they’d take on the form of blank staring children dressed preciously for Midnight Mass while chasing anyone listening through a barren and snowy landscape with tiny ice picks. 

So am I wimpier than Tiny Tim, or is Xmas time far more terrifying than Frosty wants us to believe?

Slaughterhouse Santa

Words don’t express how sad I am that I’ve gone 27 December 25ths without seeing Don’t Open ‘Til Christmas, but that’s what Mill Creek 50 packs were made for. And along with the soon-to-be-purchased boxed set of Silent Night, Deadly Night 3-5, I now have a new film to add to my annual yuletide viewing. Good thing the Muppet’s 2008 holiday special was rather lame. Not lame enough for Santa to be killed by a pocket-knife wielding psycho, but just under the bar set by Michael Kane, a Fraggle crossover, and Scooter in a go-go cage for Don’t Open ‘Til Christmas to claim its place under my tree.

Quick Plot: There’s a murderer on the loose in London and his targets laugh like a bowl full of jelly, sometimes while chit chatting with sex workers or humorously riding bicycles. An unnecessary and rather inconsistent prologue follows a young necking couple parked in public in the middle of the night (no shot of the street sign reading Lovers’ Lane) as they meet their end by a guy seeming to hold a knife and camera. It’s actually an impressive feat of balance, although the fact that throughout the film, the killer only stalks Santa Clauses and this opening murder makes absolutely no sense in context is something we’ll brush aside in the name of prologue.

Meanwhile, the coolest people I’ve ever seen on film are having a total Halloween-esque costume party to welcome the Christmas season, but sadly, festivities are cut short when the host is stabbed in the back of the head in front of all to see. A few more polyester white beard clad impostors are knocked off in a grab bag of styles, including gunshot, shoe knife slices, castration while urinating, and, in a stroke of true Kris Kringly genius, face roasting on an open fire (previously used to warm chestnuts, of course).

Now, I realize there was no widespread Internet in the 1980s as Al Gore had not yet sought a patent, but I’ve seen my share of spinning newspaper reels to know the general public should have been fairly aware that a serial killer was hungry for a very particular type of victim. So. Why, oh why, would one continue to travel the streets in a red velour jumpsuit? Is the call of St. Nick stronger than that of the Pony Express? It’s an unanswered question in a film that doesn’t really demand anything, so I’ll let this go because, you know what? I loved this movie, and an informed public would imply less dead Santas.

Our main heroine is the rich daughter of the first slain St. Nick, although she gets some stiff competition from Experience Girl (or so the IMDB listing credits her; I'd love to harp on the insanity of this naming, but then I'd forget that Kelly Baker was also in Slaughter High , so we'll move on) who works in what I guess is an old time nudie booth, here portrayed as a store window with prison-style phones for chatting and the option of boobs. There’s also Cliff, (Gerry Sundquist), a flute playing fashion photographer and (according the the trailer) Number One Suspect, and the skeevy Inspector Harris, played by director Edmund Purdom (clearly a man of many talents). We don’t have any reason to like any of them, but by the time the killer reveals his tormented self, the audience is having more fun than a spangly dressed elf gulping eggnog on a strobe-lit disco floor.  

High Points

Am I getting soft, or was the first shot of the plastic mask somewhat unnerving?

The final flashback, wherein we discover the motive for our killer’s hatred of all things tinseled, is absolutely incredible. By that, I mean it makes the death of Billy’s parents in the original Silent Night, Deadly Night look like Citizen Kane...which is sooooooo much less exciting than the intense use of slow motion and echoed sound cues utilized by Purdom here

You have to love a film released in 1984 that still managed to sneak in a complete disco number, performed, no less, by genre fave (and also Slaughter High graduate) Caroline Munro

Low Points

It’s hard to really spot them since this is the kind of movie where all the “bad” aspects (such as the humorously overdramatic score) make it so much fun to watch. I suppose the biggest annoyance is the fact that for the first hour, the only murdered victims are total strangers and thus, we’re less invested in their deaths than we are shopping for a Secret Santa in the office whose name we’re lucky to remember

A somewhat suspenseful and drawn-out cat-and-mouse chase with a gang-fearing Santa Claus in a toy factory has a rather humbug payoff

Lessons Learned

Models should never be photographed too much for fear of being overexposed. This may have been a cute dumb blond pun, but it doesn't really work when the actress has a lower IQ and sense of wordplay than the dumb blond she's portraying

Men with perms do not instill fear upon a 21st century audience

When expressing that you’re “bloody furious,” it's far more effective when you show the slightest trace of emotion in your voice

Murderous Christmas-hating psychotics have mastered the art of smizing (trademarked by Tyra Banks for “smiling with your eyes”)

Time flies really fast when you’re being chased by a serial killer. It can go from night to sunny daylight in the snap of your finger!


Most women are surprisingly not excited by the idea of sapphic photo shoots in Santa suits (particularly when they're mourning the murder of a family member while he happened to be dressed as such)

Repeated Confirmation of a Previous Theory

Staircases are the most lethal type of architecture one can encounter in everyday life...at least in the movies. I’ve fallen up and down many a stairway in my life, so either I’m doing something right or film characters are incredibly brittle.

Winning Line

“They’ll think we’re a couple of gays!” worries the male lead when his lady friend, dressed festively with no underthings, tries to make out in front of teenagers in a dark alleyway. Yes, that’s far more horrifying than the known madmen loose on the streets whom you’ve already witnessed kill a man.

Rent/Bury/Buy

I would never advise someone to spend more than, I don’t know, hot dog money on this film but I enjoyed the Christmas bells out of it. It’s bad in an epic way that’s incredibly watchable, with impressive and creative gore spilled throughout. I’m lucky enough to have it in my Mill Creek Drive-In Classics movie pack, which means you can probably find a copy for peanuts. Is it worth it? You’ll know how you feel about his film based on the tagline:

...t'was the night before Christmas, and all through the house, not a creature was stirring...they were all dead!

True merriment at its best.

Apocalypse of the Amphibians

Frogs is like Who Can Kill a Child, but with Frogs.

Frogs is what could have happened if Kermit never met Dom DeLuise.

Frogs is the original version of Jurassic Park II: The Lost World. Speilberg simply subbed lizards, snakes, and toads (not frogs) for dinosaurs, used Pete Postlethwaite’s hunter in place of a WASPy idiot who can’t untie moss, and then, most controversially, added gymnastics. 

Wow. This is harder than I thought. How about this: Frogs is an incredible piece of cinema that rivals The Godfather and Star Wars for best film of the ‘70s...only my definition of ‘best’ means something very different from that of the Academy Awards voting committee. 

Quick Plot: A shockingly unmustashioed Sam Elliot takes National Geographic-esque photos of toads (not frogs), snakes, meerkats, unicorns, and lots of other animals you probably won’t find in the swamps of the United States. After a boat incident that’s less exciting than the opening minutes of Sleepaway Camp, Elliot’s Picket Smith befriends the rich brother and sister whose drunken yacht steering flipped his canoe and destroyed what seemed to be hours worth of nature photos (I’m basing that on what seemed to be an hourlong credits sequence featuring stills of said nature photos). 

Hard-drinking Cliff and level-headed(ish) Karen (Joan Van Ark) bring Picket to meet their wealthy and wheelchair-bound grandfather Jason Crocket (Ray Milland) on his sprawling southern estate. This is perfect timing for the annual Crocket quadruple birthday party celebration, a giant party set to be booming with top shelf drinks, competitive croquet, and manly pillow fights. 

Only one thing stands in the Crockets’ way: rudely ribbiting toads (not frogs) that have deprived the poor rich family a few snores out of their typical 18 hours of sleep. Despite dispatching a man named after my favorite Muppet to spray pesticide on the Crocket estate, the animal situation seems to be out of control. It’s soon revealed that everything without opposable thumbs and ever to have been captured in stock footage is on a vengeful rampage to annihilate all humans. 

I had heard Frogs was one of the more laughable entries in the eco-horror sub-genre of the ‘70s, but in now way was I prepared for it to be so incredibly Ed Woodian.

To begin....well, I don’t even know where to begin. Let’s just list a few of my favorite deaths (SPOILERS) to see why they’re so gosh darn leapin’ lizards amazing:

-Because they’re in the sky, one character shoots birds and somehow manages to put a bullet in his leg, which in turn somehow manages to paralyze him. This is inconvenient since he lands in a part of the woods populated by an international cornucopia of tarantulas who unite to crawl near the camera and, while the action cuts to closeups of the actor screaming, spin what seems to be deadly tangles of moss to strangle or just confuse the failed hunter to death

-Another grandson enters a greenhouse, unaware that it’s already occupied by a thousand lizards. They spill some poisonous gas (‘cause, you know, that’s what every wealthy southerner stores next to his plants), shut the door tightly with their evil iguanaesque tails, and leave the guy to suffocate in less than 30 seconds

-The eccentric Aunt Iris (possibly the lesser abled little sister of Charlotte Rae) chases butterflies for 20 minutes, frolicking like a woodland nymph high on electric Kool-Aid. Meanwhile, snakes of many colors, bloodsucking leeches, and ominous toads (not frogs) track the touched redhead to eventually bite (???) the poor dear and turn her skin into a shade akin to Violet Beauregarde post gum chew.

-Iris’s husband wrestles a crocodile. By wrestle, I mean he lays on top of it and rolls around as if auditioning for Plan 9 From Outer Swamp.

-The maid, butler, and now single supermodel girlfriend of the greenhouse gassed grandson unite to harness their African American power (I’m not kidding) to escape on their own. Sadly, they see seagulls and hide in a cabin. Later, other characters discover their luggage, thus leading the audience to believe that the defiant trio have been eaten whole by gluttonous birds or a scene too expensive for director George McCowan to film

-Cliff’s wife is killed by a tortoise. Yes. Cliff’s wife is killed by a tortoise.

-Throughout all this bloodshed, Grandpa Crocket holds strong to his party plans, mostly because every killer animal film requires some guy to do so. Naturally, you’d expect such a villain to be saved for a fate worse than all others, and as he wheels himself around his lonely mansion now hopping with slightly oversized toads (not frogs), we salivate in the hopes of seeing a Captain Rhodes-like dismemberment by way of flickering tongues. Heavily edited shots of Crocket’s hunting trophies egg our bloodthirst on. What can a toad (not frog) do?

Um, prank call him. Then inspire him to stand up. And fall. And die instantly. The end.

High Points

Just when you think the film can’t get any funnier, an actual intended laugh is saved for the credits with an adorably animated stinger

Low Points

I like my Sam Elliot grizzled with a glorious garden of greying facial hair. It’s not that he doesn’t look good clean shaven--the man was quite dashing in ruggedly hairy chested ‘70s style--but like Samson and his mighty locks, this cowboy loses a some power sans stubble

Even if it meant messily edited shots of the characters screaming cut with closeups of bird beaks, it would have been nice to actually see what happened to the maid, butler, and supermodel

And the pet toad in the car at the end is supposed to mean what exactly?

Lessons Learned

Toads (not frogs) are quite energy conscious and will turn off the lights when finished with their homicidal business

A mysteriously asphyxiated grandson is no excuse to break party plans

Supermodels are quick with math and know their antiquated terms for time

Being nearly killed by a drunken boat driver will force you into indentured servitude to his WASPy family

Snakes have the ability to emote more than select actors

Winning Line

“I almost came to your room, but the floorboards creak too much.”

Ahh, the ‘70s, a time when bedding the handsome stranger (whom you met three hours earlier) inside your grandfather’s house is impeded only by poor carpentry

Rent/Bury/Buy

Frogs is beyond awful, but it’s a different kind of awful than, say, the miscalculated at every turn It’s Alive remake or a lifeless cheapie like Rattlers . It’s more epically bad than anything I’ve seen in recent months, but when done with the right kind of energy, such a film is enjoyable like no other. It’s a watch-once-with-friends/alcohol kind of film that will give you plenty of chuckles and, possibly, warts. Because by the way: aside from the credit icon, there are no frogs to be found in Frogs.

With a fun fact like that, how, HOW I ask, can you not want to see this film?