Showing posts with label puppet master. Show all posts
Showing posts with label puppet master. Show all posts

Thursday, March 1, 2012

Did I Kill Davy Jones? Also, Thus End'th The Shortening

As we say goodbye to 2012's 2nd Annual Attack of the Vertically Challenged Villains: The Shortening, it brings me incredible sadness to mourn the passing of my very first crush and perennial petite powerhouse, Monkees lead singer Davy Jones.

Growing up in the late '80s, I fell in love with basic cable's reruns of their comedy show, so much so that I used my very first tin of push pins to hang posters of Davy's sparkling eyes on my bedroom walls. Two years ago, I blushed my way through meeting him at New Jersey's Chiller Theater convention where I was excited to discover he was still good-looking AND a good inch and a half taller than me.

While there, I bought a fan club worthy autographed 8x10 glamor shot that still proudly hangs over my toilet, meaning Mr. Jones will forever watch over those who do their bodily business in my apartment.

Davy Jones passed away on Leap Day. As far as I'm concerned, that implies we only have to acknowledge the fact that he died every four years and therefore can go back to daydream believing him back into existence for the other three. That's how the system works and I'm sticking to it.
It's a fitting, solemn end to 2012's Shortening, though personally, I'm a tad disturbed. See, just two weeks ago, I also had to mourn the passing of a celebrity I harbored serious romantic feelings for throughout my elementary school years: former Mets catcher and baseball Hall of Famer Gary Carter, who succumbed to brain cancer on February 16th. If I could have been an underage polygamist in a highly experimental tribe, you can bet a few leprechauns that I would have been Mrs. Emily Intravia-Carter-Jones. It worries me to see the highlights of my youth taken before their time. Now let us lend kind thoughts and extra bodyguards to other notable entries in my imaginary lovebook, including fellow vertically challenged superstars Rick Moranis and Martin Short.

On the sunnier side, we have one last round of Shortening sharing! Thanks and cuddles to the following bloggers who tackled some vertically challenged villains and lived to write about it:


Over at Cinema Gonzo, sir Thomas Duke headed back to the swinging '60s for the oddball little person horror, Curse of the Doll People. Find it in its glory this way





Also on a Mexican trek was Ms. Mermaid Heather, who opened up the toy chest for a review of Dolly Dearest and thusly conquered both The Shortening and Women In Horror Month:



The cool as an air conditioned space Elwood Jones headed up north for one of my personal favorites, David Cronenberg's extra gooey The Brood. Go have a taste.




Dare you forget T.L. Bugg's swap duty covering 2008's killer kids in a winter wonderland classic, The Children. It might not be a fair fight for poor Darby O'Gill's leprechaun army, but the Bugg still does it right.




Finally, though I failed to find a proper doll flick for this month's festivities, the Direct to Video Connoisseur came to the rescue with pristine coverage of Puppet Master 2 and the quick cut-and-paste job (of the movie; not the review) for Dollman vs. Demonic Toys.






As we march on through March, there are glimmers of hope: HorrorHound Weekend's biannual snugglefest, a hopeful Leprechaun marathon on the SyFy Channel, the return of Community, the quest to snag a green milkshake in the Bronx that's supposed to be that way. Will anything top little people conning men out of their souls, shrunken men fighting tarantulas, Mickey Rooney encouraging child labor, or Harry Potter trying to out-act creepy monkey dolls? It's hard to say but I take comfort in knowing we will always have 2012's Shortening, and more importantly, Davy Jones will always watch my houseguests pee.


Tuesday, February 7, 2012

Tuesday Travels

Shortness isn't something that should ever be faced alone. Thankfully, friends of the Doll's House have lent their longer legs to bulk up the celebration of Year 2's Vertically Challenged Villainy. 


Over at The Death Rattle, Aaron is watching Puppet Master movies with more fury than Andre Toulon on a Nazi hunting spree and naming the Most Valuable Puppet for each. Glorious, right? Head over for his reviews of Part 1...




The Torch-fueled Part 2




The Six-Shooter vs. The Third Reich-filled Part 3





The new direction of Part 4




Part 5, where this thing happens:




And the non-numbered Part 6




Not to be left out of the Full Moon eclipse is the Direct to Video Connoisseur himself, who tackled David Schmoeller's original Puppet Master and the Tim Thomerson classic Dollman (South Bronx represent!).




Remember munchkins, if you have a site and are feeling short love, be sure to email me your links for next week's roundup. Now if you'll excuse me, my chariot awaits.



Thursday, December 22, 2011

Surprisingly Tasty Breakfast Club Cheese In Your Stocking: Cancel Christmas

Is it possible that in the midst of all my cheese mining, there actually exists a made-for-TV Christmas movie I like without irony?
And it stars Judd Nelson?

As Santa Claus?

Quick Plot: We open quite suddenly on an empty  courtroom setting where a humorless 'board member' breaks the bad news to Santa: due to the increasing materialization of Christmas, Santa Claus will not be delivering gifts to children this year...UNLESS...


Cue Challenge!

The old man can convert two spoiled rich boys and a moody paraplegic to discovering the true meaning of the holiday without revealing his secret Santa identity. Conveniently enough, all three brats/kids attend the same ritzy private academy in Califor--

NO! What's this? A cheaply made holiday film NOT set in snowless & sunny LA? Can it BE?

Well sort of. See, the spoiled rotten Farley, his lackey Stephen, and Adam The Wheelchair Kid all live in the snowless & sunny... Atlanta. 




Which apparently looks  a lot like California, but comes at a lower budget.

Ah well. At least the film has a fairly original premise. Santa (played by Judd Nelson with the same creepily forced old man voice used by Corey Feldman in Puppet Master vs. Demonic Toys) takes a job as a school janitor with his chief elf Randall in tow. The Bert & Ernie-ish pair also rent a room above Adam and his single mom who oh-so-serendipitously teaches Farley and Stephen. Oh, and Farley's dad is ALSO oh-so-serendipitously single. Some people don't need cute talking dogs to be matchmade.


Broom in hand and aging Judd Nelson disguise in place, Santa slowly works his magic on his charges. The refreshing thing--and I'm being weirdly serious about this--is that these kids genuinely DO start to open up but not necessarily to the creepily enthusiastic janitor and his assistant (who aggressively laughs in a manner as terrifying as anything in Clownhouse). When Adam's teacher mom confronts Stephen about his follower status, the boy thoughtfully evaluates his actions and takes a stand for himself. Farley starts off as a token rich kid, but the film lets us see that he's really just still recovering from the loss of his mother in a way that's not overly trite. Meeting Adam helps to bring out the best in him not BECAUSE Adam is in a wheelchair, but more in a way that these two angry middle schoolers simply enjoy one another's company.


I don't mean to say Cancel Christmas is on par with Wings of Desire in its humanism, but considering so much of the sentimental tripe hauled out for the season, it's genuinely sweet. I don't know that I'll seek out more work from director John Bradshaw and writer David Alexander, but I'll be quite happy if I see their names pop up on something like this in the future.

Especially if, like Cancel Christmas, it involves a star wipe.



High Points
There's a kind of wonderful sequence where Santa steals an hour working as a mall Claus in order to get a feel for today's youth. Instead of having the kids recite their shopping lists, Santa asks them what they're giving their own parents this year. This subplot develops a little more and in all scrooge-less honesty, it's absolutely refreshing


Aforementioned star wipe. This film has a star wipe!

Low Points
While the ending is earned, there's something about the execution of Cancel Christmas' final scene that feels incredibly rushed and sadly lacking the cheer I was hoping for, almost as if the budget was star wiped out by the time they filmed it


Lessons Learned
You know you have an absentee dad when only the butler knows how you take your steak

That Kipling dude could write

If you go to or work at a private school, you will have no discernible accent, even if you live in Atlanta


Perpetuity means forever (and ever)

Montage Mania
Stephen fundraises the only way one can: montage

Sass Factor
The nearly insufferable Randall gets the zingers AND the chance to dress in drag, which naturally means a wacky complaint about wearing heels


Token Slapstick
Absent! It's a Christmas miracle!

Cool Cat Alert
It's kind of hilarious how relevant and hip Cancel Christmas tries to be. For starters, Santa is handed a cell phone that will ring when his tasks are completed, as if someone behind the screens realized there's no better way to look current than have your Santa Claus hold a cell phone. Even better is the forced "teen jargon" spoken by Stephen. Really the only words he uses are 'dude,' 'stellar,' 'stoked,' and 'off the hook,' but it's all spoken with such pointed scriptness  and constantly commented on by 'old' people

Stocking Stuffer Or Coal In Your Stocking?
Cancel Christmas feels like the kind of film your friend's good-intentioned but a tad behind the times dad might make. It's sickenly earnest, but until its final scene, the saccharine is far more tolerable than it should be. Perhaps I've just grown so tired of career women being schooled or quirky antler-wearing singletons finding love that this kind of movie--made with no irony and save for an opening shot of a Hallmark Christmas village, seemingly no cash grabbings--just feels oddly fresh and...well, NICE.

Okay, and a little sentimental but I'm only human.

Monday, February 14, 2011

Pinnochio Sematery



Stand tall, little ones. This is YOUR month to shine, and shine you shall...even when 
you’ve been buried in a Charles Band cemetery since 2005 possessed by the Full Moon spirit circa 1991.
Quick Plot: In 1905, a young girl named Sophia survives her cruel single father with the comfort of her ugly and politically incorrect collection of dolls. When she breaks a vase during playtime, Pops punishes Sophia by forcing her to bury her friends in the backyard, a stressful little process that leads to her bumping her head and apparently, dying instantly. Rather than do something moral like call a doctor or check your pulse, Dad decides to cover Sophia with her pals as the film flashes forward a century.

New millennium, new family, still headed by a single dad (still played by the poor man’s Tim Roth, Ken Lyle). We also have self-proclaimed hottie senior Deedee and her geeky little brother Guy, a kid with a soft spot for collectibles. He happens to discover the burial ground of Sophia’s dolls on the same night Dad’s got a date and slutty big sis is having an unauthorized, uninteresting house party with the token jock jerks, blond bimbo, and good girl. In no time, the dirt-caked, vendetta-holding dollies are scurrying around the house with tiny guns loaded, jagged teeth sharpened, and stabby sticks aimed.

Doll Graveyard is a Charles Band production, a fact you can smell from the very first glimpse of Sophia’s horrifically adorable toys. Between the sweetly sleazy Blood Dolls and the tamest women-in-prison B-movie ever made that was Dangerous Worry Dolls, I’m starting to wonder if Band actually purchased all rights to the word ‘doll’ when used in films. I’ve also learned to expect a few hallmarks:
-Neat effects and unique doll designs not without their charms
-Tiny glassy eyes that rarely blink
-Questionable but generally high energy levels of acting

-Very little attempt to explain any form of backstory for the highly fantastical plotline
The final point is the oddest, as Doll Graveyard is barely 71 minutes long. And that’s including an opening credits sequence, best-of cast listing at the end, and slowest scrolling credits I’ve ever seen. It’s something of a shame that Doll Graveyard doesn’t stretch out its welcome a tad more. The body count is low and story barely there, but the dolls are as fun as anything in Band’s Puppet Master series and could have easily earned more screentime if the script gave them half a chance.
High Points
A good killer doll movie can only be as good as its own killer dolls (apologies, Cathy’s Curse) and it pleases me to say that the wrinkled Samurai, sad-eyed soldier, rotted baby and--dear me--well-hung Oogah Boogah are all interesting little creatures

Like many a Charles Band production, the instrumental score is quite grand and good
Low Points
Too many survivors is a problem I personally often cite with ‘nicer’ horror movies, but it’s especially apparent in Doll Graveyard, where we don’t really like anyone enough to need their survival, yet end the day with what feels like more characters than we started with

Lessons Learned
A samurai is also known as a hobo with a sword

Lincoln freed the slaves
When looking for your cell phone in a room that is clearly hosting a killer doll, approach with caution. Enter at normal speed, fumble through everything you see with nervous speed, but always be sure to pause, wait for the music to kick in, then reach--everrrrr sooooo sloooooooowllllllllyyyyyy--for your phone once you spot it, because clearly that’s what tension calls for
Rent/Bury/Buy
Doll Graveyard is, in its essence, a modern day Full Moon picture, meaning you can expect a certain amount of intrigue, cool kills, surprisingly well-orchestrated music, and an ultimate sense of twee. Even the most sensitive dollophobe (what are you looking at?) won’t really find anything to fear, though there’s enough to amuse certain fans .This is the kind of film that belongs on Instant Watch or tucked comfortably in a value pack, fun enough for a snow day that wasn’t or laundry folding accompaniment, but not worth a journey into your wallet.

Tuesday, August 17, 2010

Doll Face Meme!

So I'm a woman of a few talents (surviving bad cinema, badminton, Boggle) but like any mere mortal, certain skills elude me. Organization. Social planning. Planning. Planning socialism, you get the idea.


For instance, I announced a contest several months back which still excites me, and yet I've yet to select a winner. What this means is 1) I will do so this weekend and 2) Said winner will receive a special "I'm sorry I'm a procrastinating poophead prize," fear not, not comprised of poop. This also means I will start reviewing the recommended films with intros from the lovely and daring souls who entered.

Also, it's social blogging season and like most times of year, I rarely seem to be 'wid it.' I've had half a Billy Loves Stu  inspired meme sitting in my draft box for a month, 9 entries into my Horror Digest  honored Willies, and terribly lax thank yous for Versatile Blogging. 

But finally, I found a trend I can easily hop onto! No, not Bandz or street dancing (well, kind of street dancing...hint hint bonus episode of the GleeKast coming at you in 3D!) but the Screen Grab Meme Spectacular bestowed upon me by none other than the baton-twirling BJ-C of Day of the Woman .  Bloggers are ordered to grab a few images with one unifying theme. Now I combed through my globby brain for days trying to figure out what would be appropriate before finally bashing my own noggin with a frying pan for overlooking the obvious.

Starting with The Godfather of Dollinema...



whose name need not be said


Baby Oopsy Daisy, Demonic Toys


Dolly Dearest, Chucky's first true love


Cowboy Curtis (I'm guessing), from Stuart Gordon's Dolls





My Cheat (not screen grab of cinema)

Billy Baloney, Pee-Wee Herman's naughty friend. True story: despite my doll phobia, this thing lived in my house all through my childhood. As recently as three years ago, my mother kept it on top of the refrigerator and would occasionally bring it to the dinner table with the prime aim of making me uncomfortable.


Dream Warriors Got No Strings!


One of the eeriest (if memory serves) PG-Rated films of all time, Roland Emmerich's (yes, that Roland Emmerich) Joey, aka Making Contact


Further proof that all dummies are evil: Anthony Hopkins and Fats, Magic 



May and Suzy


The soon-to-be-Criterioned Night of the Hunter


It takes a bad man to combine clowns with dolls. 
Steven Spielberg, I see your true soul.


Blade, the respectable leader of the Puppet Master series


Mannequins = Dolls all grown up.
Mannequins=me crying in the corner


An underrated anthology classic, Tales From the Hood


And we conclude with the question that's plagued mankind throughout the ages:
How'd it get buuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuurned?

I was supposed to use this space to tag fellow bloggers to make them work, but how can I focus on choosing who to assign Googling to when the best YouTube compilation of all time is screaming at me?