SWEET SIXTEEN (1983)

Sweet Sixteen has been near the top of my "super must see" list for a long, long time. I'm not exactly sure why that is- I never heard that it was some amazing slice of horror pie that will change your life or something. Wait, maybe I am exactly sure why that is. It stars Dana "Chris motherfucking Higgins" Kimmell! It features Susan "The motherfucking Manitou" Strasberg! 'Twas borne of my favorite era ('77-'83)! But perhaps most of all, my desire to see this film grew and grew simply because it always managed to elude my grasp. Never saw it in a theatre or during the home video era. Never found a crappy VHS copy anywhere. Code Red released the Director's Cut on DVD a few years ago, but we were never in the same room at the same time. I finally added this shit to my Netflix and they sent me three cracked, unwatchable copies before I got one that would play. Finally- finally!- Sweet Sixteen and I snuggled on up together last night. After all the years, after all the hardship and heartache, was this movie everything I'd hoped and dreamed it would be?

It hurts my heartplace to say it, because look at that bitchin' title card...but while I want to say that Sweet Sixteen moved from my "super must see" list to my "this movie is my past, my present, and my future" list, it only ended up earning a post on my "okay, I saw that" list.

Far worse, however, is that sending the title "Sweet Sixteen" trough the crazy straw that is my brain means that this song of all time has been stuck in my head for a while now. I will not deny that it is catchy in that adult contemporary / Time-Life Singers & Songwriters Collection way that yes I enjoy so sue me...but my goodness, by the 15-second mark I fully expect Chris Hansen to come around the corner and ask Benny Mardones to please take a fucking seat.


While he's here, Mr. Hansen can also ask Sweet Sixteen to park it because it opens with a full-frontal shower scene of the "camera lovingly lingers" variety featuring 15-year-old Melissa (Aleisa Shirley). Man, I get so squidged out by these shower scenes where the characters are underage (Stepfather, I'm talking to you). Come on, movies, why you wanna try to make me feel like the kind of person who hears "Into the Night" and is all, "Finally! Someone knows what I'm going through!"

Melissa is new in town and she gives no fucks about what anyone thinks. She's that kind of character that feels terribly early 80s to me- always trying to score drugs, ciggies, sex, booze, and any combination therein. It seems to me that characters no longer have that seedy appeal, or if they do revel in their bad sides, they're punished for it. Why can't we just let sleazy characters be great? I blame the furor over Janet Jackson's Super Bowl nipple. And Justin Timberlake. Then again, I place the blame for a lot of things on Justin Timberlake and the furor over Janet Jackson's Super Bowl nipple. (Not a bad band name, actually.)

I mean, who eats apples like this anymore, amirite

Anyway, it seems that whenever Melissa takes a fancy to some young townie lad, he ends up dead soon thereafter. Is Melissa a crazy person? Is she a crazy person who kills? Is she a succubus or a werewolf or a bigfoot or a Satanist or something? Or is Melissa innocent and the town's native folk are murderers, as she insists? Well! That's the crux of the film, and it's a novel twist on the slasher formula. Instead of nonexistent or useless authority figures, Sweet Sixteen plays more like a murder mystery as Sheriff Burke (Bo Hopkins) attempts to take a McGruffian bite out of crime. A big, mumbly bite because look, even though Bo Hopkins was on Dynasty and Dynasty is second only to Dallas, he is such a GD mush mouth all the time I can't stand it and I'm not sure why he was ever cast in anything.

Hmm, I seem to have a lot of feelings about Bo Hopkins's acting. I had no idea they ran so deep. Thanks, Sweet Sixteen!

screencap chose for the dangling canvas mushroom wall art...gawd I love that people were into weird shit then

Sadly, a novel twist does not a terribly good film make. In the end, it's all a bit too dull to be overly enjoyable. It doesn't help matters that the print is so dark that you can't make out anything that happens after the sun sets. Like, say, all the murders, which happen at night. Its frustrating, particularly since they're the only real moments of action in this quiet snoozer. At least one of the bodies is found during the day so we know for sure that someone was, in fact, killed the night before.

While I was not bowled over, I'm not gonna sit here and LIE AT YOU and say that Sweet Sixteen is without its charms. I'm not gonna do it, so don't ask me if I will in some perverted attempt to pervert my nobility to help fulfill your anti-Sweet Sixteen agenda. Charms, it has them! To wit:

Larry Storch is in the house! And so are the giant jars of pickled eggs. I've seen so many jars of pickled eggs in dive bars both real and fictional, and I never understand the WHY of it all. Who would ever eat one? Perhaps in the comfort and privacy of one's own home, yes, but..those jars...sitting there, so...questionable...they're not something you want to have anywhere near your mouth hole in any capacity- they're more like jars full of "souvenirs" kept on a dusty shelf in a serial killer's basement. And I just know that if I were ever drunk enough to get wicked hungry and therefore slur out "One pickled egg, please," the bartender would reach right in, grab one, give it to me, and wipe his hand on the ass of his jeans. What I am saying is that I doubt the use of tongs would ever come into play, and if there's one thing I learned in the 90s it's "No Tongs, No Thanks (The 'H' is Silent)" because TLC sang about it.

No wait, that was a song about condoms and AIDS. Was it TLC? It might have been En Vogue. I don't know, the 90s were weird, but not in a "dangling canvas mushroom wall art" kind of way, which is a shame.

FEAST YOUR MOTHERFUCKING EYES on Dana Kimmel's cascading hair wave. It is glorious. How does it defy the laws of physics so? I don't understand at all how it works. How do you fashion the very fabric of space and time out of hair? It must be the natural state of things, like Wave Rock in Arizona. It should be designated a national monument, at the least. (Yes, I assume she still wears her hair this way because why wouldn't you?)

Hmm, what else? Well, Melissa spends a lot of time looking at herself in the mirror, and I guess that's neat.

At Melissa's Sweet Sixteen birthday party, her mom Joanne (Strasberg) opts to wear a number from Miss Havisham's Junior Casuals Collection.

As Marci, Dana Kimmell is the polar opposite of Melissa: she's annoyingly perky and gung-ho about everything. She's a total do-gooder who's determined to solve these murders, but you can't help like her, because yes, cascading hair wave, but also because she gives Melissa one of her mom's old handkerchiefs for her birthday. And she thinks this is a good idea. In other words, Marci is pretty great.

There's a weird moment, however, when her sheriff dad drops her off at school; he goes to kiss her on the cheek, but at the last second she turns and kisses him full on the mouth and it's just...too big. It's too big of a kiss. Immediately afterwards, Kimmell just stares at the ground as she walks away,  and you get the feeling that it was a reflex on her part and it shouldn't have happened. Because it shouldn't have happened.

brother digs it, though

Also of note:

• parts of the film actually takes place on an Indian burial ground! I know it's an old chestnut of a joke in horror movies, but Sweet Sixteen is the real deal.
• Like Laura Mars and Jennifer before her, Melissa has her own theme song. This kind of makes the whole thing worth it.

The Eyes of Melissa Mars

So yes, ultimately I'd have to say that Sweet Sixteen was a letdown. Although who knows...perhaps this is simply because I was expecting a good ol' fashioned slasher flick (it doesn't quite qualify). Or maybe it's because I put it on The Pedestal of My Mind during all those years it eluded me- it could only be a letdown. But that's okay, I can't stay mad at Sweet Sixteen. I'm just gonna have Benny Mardones creepily sing me out as I sail away blissfully on Dana Kimmell's cascading hair waves. Ain't nothing wrong with that! 

In space, no one can hear you scream (unless you're in a spaceship)

When I reviewed the animated feature Dead Space: Downfall, I started out with some math:

(cartoon + comic + video game) x (sci-fi + horror) = (Final Girl + Dead Space) / love

That formula has not changed a bit in the interim, so I suppose you could say that I was greatly looking forward to the sequel, Dead Space: Aftermath. I suppose you could also say that I should get a haircut and while that may, in fact, be true, it has little to do with the matters at hand so you should just mind your own beeswax! But I know you're right. I do need a haircut. Earlier today I found a split end that was split in a manner that defied the very laws of nature and physics and probably time! It looked not at all unlike this 1896 drawing of a Mantis Shrimp.

By the way, don't mess with the Mantis Shrimp! They will fuck you up.

Sorry, I'm a bit distracted this morning. Umm...Dead Space: Aftermath, yes! As Downfall bridged the gap between the 6-issue comic book miniseries and the Dead Space video game, so Aftermath bridges the gap between the game and its sequel, due to hit on January 25th. For those of you who aren't all ten kinds of Funk & Wagnalls about the Dead Space series, here's a quick rundown:

Downfall: On the planet Aegis VII, an ancient alien artifact is discovered and brought aboard the USG Ishimura. The artifact has hinky powers, though, and causes flip outs of the homicidal variety. Not only that, but it reanimates dead tissue, turning human corpses into necromorphs, hideously deformed monsters who kill kill kill! Shit gets FUBARed on the Ishimura very quickly.

Dead Space: The USG Kellion answers the Ishimura's distress call. Players control Isaac Clarke, the Kellion's engineer, as he tries to...well, survive against a space ship full of necromorphs. At the end of the game, Clarke's fate is unknown.

Aftermath: The USG Bannon has been sent to find out what the frig is going on since contact with the Kellion and Clarke have now been lost. Ship after ship after ship, I swear! As you might guess, things on the Bannon go straight to heck and only four people survive. During Aftermath, we hear their tales, piece together the story, and learn just how heck-y it all got. We also discover what happened to Isaac Clarke to some extent, and the film leads right into Dead Space 2.


PHEW, amiright? Yeah, there's a lot to the Dead Space mythology, for lack of a better word, and I haven't even touched on the religious aspects of it all. If you don't know anything about any of it, you might come into Aftermath and not know what's going on. Well, you might not be completely lost, but you might feel a little out of place. You don't want that, do you? I don't want that for you. I want you to feel loved and cherished and like you belong, so you can be all "necromorph this" and "plasma cutter that". It's because I care!


Whether or not you're a Dead head, Aftermath is a good time. There's not a lot of character depth- we learn just the tiniest bit about the four survivors and their families (for example, one crew member sees the ghost of his dead daughter beckoning him as the artifact messes with his mind), but essentially they only tell the story of the massacre on the Bannon. That's fine by me, as it's an entertaining story...and as the math has proven, I'm a sucker for horror in space.

And this is definitely horror! It may not be quite as gory as Downfall, but the blood certainly flies and there's plenty of violence to be found. If that wasn't a big enough indicator, then all the swearing will let you know that Aftermath is decidedly not for the kiddies. That's right, I said swearing. This movie pulls out all the stops!


Each segment relating a survivor's tale has a different director and therefore a different art style. While they're all anime-esque, there are enough variations that you may end up needing a moment to sort out the characters- a thin, dweeby egghead scientist may appear all jacked up and ready to go on a 'roid rage in the next story. What's more off-putting, however, is the animation in the framing narrative- I don't know who decided cartoonish CGI was a good idea, but I wish they'd reconsidered and gone the traditional animation route for the entire film. Sometimes the CGI is alright; armor and guns, for example, come off looking cel-shaded and pretty cool. At other times, though, this shit looks like a commercial for The General auto insurance. It's an odd choice and I can't say I liked it, but I could deal with it (cue heavy, martyr-ish sigh).



I really like the Dead Space universe, and I dig that the world I discovered in the game is branching out into other media- I do so enjoy a property I can sink my teeth into. I'm a fan of animation and space-based horror, so as far as I'm concerned, these movies can keep on comin'. But then, what do I know? I mean, look at the state of my hair.

so i made a movie: VOYEUR, part two

Yes, So I Made A Movie: Voyeur, which is a short film written by, directed by, and starring Shannon Lark, which we shot whilst I was away. We just know how much you dug our silly write-ups for Ludlow, so we decided to continue the series. See what you've wrought? This is what happens when you pay attention to us. Part One can be read here.
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SHANNON LARK: I woke up the next day (I think it was Thursday) with a massive hangover. It was baaaad, and Stacie greeted me with the best cup of coffee I had ever had in my life! I asked her what she put in it, and she looked at me oddly, “uhhhh….coffee?” I agreed with myself to agree, although I still believe that she put some sort of magical-ness into it then I can only hope to harness one day.

STACIE PONDER: Dammit, that hangover was supposed to be mine! We'd agreed before Shannon even left New Mexico that she'd be the one giving ME water and nursing my drunkenness after the party and during the long drive to San Fran. It just goes to show, something something something.

In related news, that coffee was pretty fine. You MIGHT say that the secret magical ingredient is unicorn milk, or as it's more commonly referred to, "soy creamer"…which sounds vaguely like a porn star name. Roy Creamer, maybe…hmm. Anyway.

SHANNON LARK: I sat on the couch and we talked while the pain from my noggin’ was slowly lifted. We decided to hit the road and we had breakfast in an ultra-70’s style coffee shop that Stacie was in love with and made a visit to the grocery store, where we bought one can of almonds for our trip.

STACIE PONDER: Oh my God, I do so love the Lamplighter- born in 1977 and it hasn't seemed to have been altered since. It's totally full of grey-haired folk all the time; it's the only place I've ever been where all the handicapped parking spots are ALWAYS full. And I dig that it's half diner, half cocktail lounge. I LURVE the cocktail lounge with its cranky old bartender and the chairs that roll. They roll because they have WHEELS on them! Whenever I have to "take a meeting" (which has happened…err, once, I think) I do it at the Lamplighter cocktail lounge so I can feel as if I'm at the Cattleman's Club on Dallas.

And yes, we pushed a cart around the grocery store for 15 minutes only to emerge with a single can of almonds. I can't decide if that's pathetic or awesome.

SHANNON LARK: It was totally awesome! Stacie drove like a maniac out of LA, onto I-5, where we got to see the sights and smell the smells of California’s dustbowl. Mmmm….

I sang and danced and looked at people through my binoculars as we neared San Francisco. All the old feelings of seeing SF came back to me, and I was perfectly happy I didn’t live there anymore. I love the place, but it was just time to leave, you know?

Stacie is an expert driver, so we parked at the downtown garage and hit Union Square to work with Jane, the other actress, through some blocking. There was a peace rally for Iran happening and people kept coming up to us because they thought we had the petition due to my trusty production folder. Little did they know it had images of rape all over it. Heh.

We could only do so much out in the open air (although in SF you can get away with a lot), and Jane parted ways with us shortly after the meeting. Stacie and I headed off to stay at a residence of an old friend of mine, Darren, and found rock star parking. WOO! Seriously though, Stacie had never been to SF before and she took on those hills like they were nothing. I was amazed and somewhat hypnotized.

STACIE PONDER: I was totally channeling the late, great Karl Malden in The Streets of San Francisco! But really, Shannon had warned me that people freak out driving around SF for the first time, intimidated by all the hills. Meh. I'm definitely not a driver who gets intimidated by much…after living in and tooling around New York and Boston, what else is there? Besides, the hills are meant to be conquered…and they're rather fun, if I do say so myself.

I will admit, though, that we found kick ass parking the whole time we were there. My Parking Fu was quite strong.

SHANNON LARK: We lugged our baggage up to Darren’s, hit the Starlight Room for some wonderful hospitality, and then passed out like two peas in a pod. We awoke after a good sleep and went to breakfast with Darren at a local café. Stacie and I jumped in the car and checked out the local Video rental house on the search for a monitor to hook up to an HD camera. Oh boy…they had the worst monitors, with missing knobs and screws. It was pretty terrible and overpriced (ahhh…San Francisco). We decided that going with a computer monitor would be even better than renting the ones available. We got everything packed up and played the waiting game until 2:30pm. The waiting is truly the worst thing about filmmaking. Neither of us are very patient (except with each other, I’ve noticed), so it was difficult to wait around: rechecking my notes and storyboards for the 16th time.

STACIE PONDER: The very idea of getting a monitor for this shoot let me know that it would be quite…well, different than what I was used to on my own films. A monitor and a crew? These are things that are entirely foreign to me. Shannon doesn't fuck around, and while it's awesome, it was honestly only adding to my secret anxiety about shooting her film. There would be people watching shit on a monitor, JUDGING ME. What if it stunk? What if these people were laughing at my work, or even worse, at my hair? Shannon's biggest requirement for Voyeur was that I "make it pretty", and it was getting to be time to see if I was up to it.

file photo of Final Girl

SHANNON LARK: I had no doubts that everyone was going to love Stacie's hair. 2:15 hit the clock and we were off to Harry’s place, which was conveniently 2 blocks away. We were ready to rock!

wrong wrong wrong

An A for effort maybe, but in every other regard, undoubtedly an F. Times fifty.

I admire that he went the extra mile and combed his hair and shined his shoes for school picture day, but stabbing with a machete? Come on now. Moron.

ahhhhhh!

Mayhaps you're saying to yourself "Oh, that Final Girl. October draws to a close and she craps out on us. If I didn't love her so, surely I'd hate her so", to which I can only reply, "October still has days and days to go, and there's still time for me to catch up- I won't squelch on any reviews. Please, don't judge me so harshly; after all, you don't hear me complaining about your hair, do you?"

Besides, who wants movie reviews when you can get red...err, I mean black carpet action from the 2007 Spike TV Scream Awards? That's right, kids, last night I had the distinct privilege of asking burning and hard hitting questions of all sorts of horror and sci-fi types, as did my partner in crime Amanda By Night. Video is forthcoming, and you can watch the awards for yourself October 23rd at 10pm on Spike. I know you're all an impatient lot, however, so here are some video stills to wet your whistles.



When Lena Headey (300, The Cave) goes from this:

to this:

...you know I'm asking the burning, hard-hitting questions!


Yes, Paris Hilton. No, we didn't get to talk to her...but we did see her skipping, which is probably better anyway.

Hello, Dolly! - Day 2

The 1945 British thriller Dead of Night has been on my 'must see' list 4-evah; girl, please- it's an anthology film and it features a creepy ventriloquist's dummy? It's as if it were written in the stars that Dead of Night and I were meant to be together. Hello, Dolly! Week was nothing if not an excuse for me to basically force myself to watch this damn movie at long last...and now, yes, I've seen it. Wow, dreams really do come true! You, there! Your dream can come true, too- someday, you will play Harold to someone's Maude, I just knows it! And you, over there! You won't always be saddled with that ridiculous haircut, I promise! Hey lady! You, lady- cursing at your life...you're a discontented mother and a regimented wife, yeah? I've no doubt you dream about the things you'll never do...but I wish someone had talked to me like I wanna talk to you. I've been to Georgia and California and anywhere I could run! I took the hand of a preacher man and we made love in the sun-- whoa whoa whoa WHOA. Hold on a second.

Sorry about that- sometimes I get carried away and the next thing I know, I'm channeling Charlene all over the place. The reality of it is, however, that I have seen some things a woman ain't supposed to see but no, I've never been to me. I digress.

As I said ten minutes ago, Dead of Night is an anthology flick. The wraparound story concerns architect Walter Craig (Mervyn Johns) who, when summoned to a country house, is unnerved when he meets the other guests gathered there: it seems he's seen them all in his recurring nightmares, and he just knows that somehow the night will end badly. The shrink in the crowd, Dr Van Straaten (Frederick Valk) thinks it's all bunk- but as each guest recounts his or her own experiences with the paranormal (each of which serves as a story segment in the film), even Van Straaten begins to think that Craig might be more prescient than he originally believed.

Hearse Driver: A race car driver (Anthony Baird) has a premonition and subsequently avoids death; it's an enjoyable precursor to the Final Destination films, but the tale is so brief it can barely be considered anything more than a piece designed simply to establish mood.

Christmas Story: A tale that was haunting in 1945, perhaps, but terribly predictable now: young Sally (Sally Ann Howes) tells of a game of hide and seek during which she encountered the ghost of a murdered boy.

The Haunted Mirror: Things pick up a bit during this tale of...umm...a haunted mirror. Joan (Googie Withers) (yes, 'Googie Withers' is the best name ever) buys her fiance Peter (Ralph Michael) a mirror for his birthday- the mirror's sordid history slowly drives Peter to madness- madness, I tells ya!- and just might spell doom for Googie...or not, since she's the one telling the story.

Golfing Story: Hey, you got your comedy in my horror movie! Yes, this comedic segment (starring famed British duo Naunton Wayne and Basil Radford) concerns a man who commits suicide after losing a game of golf (and thus the hand of a super lady who just couldn't choose between the two men); he returns to haunt the winner when the man is exposed as a cheat. This story sticks out like a sore thumb, obviously, although it's established in the wraparound segment that the assembled guests want a tale to lighten the mood a bit. But that doesn't mean that I do, ya jerks!

The Ventriloquist's Dummy: Ah, at last, the payoff! And yeah, this story (and the subsequent wraparound wrap-up) is worth waiting for. Michael Redgrave stars as Maxwell Frere, a ventriloquist whose dummy, Hugo, has sinister ambitions of his own- or maybe Frere is just plain cuckoo. It's an ambiguous tale and though the 'evil dummy' angle has been explored many times since then, one of the first is still one of the best, thanks to a sweaty, twitchy performance by Redgrave as the tortured Frere.

Overall, Dead of Night is what you'd expect from an anthology film: mostly blah with one shining spot. It's worth seeking out, however, for the final tale alone. As for me, I finally get to cross it off my to-do list. Wow, I'm such a young go getter! Still, though, I never knew I'd be bitter from the sweet. I've spent my life exploring the subtle whoring that costs too much to be free-- ah, dammit, there I go again with the Charlene.

welcome to the witching hour at KAB

For a very long period of time, I didn't have cable TV. Though this rendered me woefully behind the curve in all the shows everyone just luffs to talk about, it certainly freed me up for things I consider far more important than being...uh, in the midst of the curve: namely, making stuff and watching movies. I don't have anything against television itself, necessarily- I mean, we all know that Dallas and Melrose Place have made this world a better place in which to spend time. It's just that for me, I feel my time is better spent for the most part far away from TV's hypnotic glow (and yes, I suppose you could call me some sort of hypocrite because after all I do watch movies...but you get my point. Why must you always point out my foibles? Huh? What's with you, man?).

In the new Super Secret Final Girl HQ, however, my roommate (aka CoHabiTaTor 3000) has insisted upon having cable in the house. I'm trying so very hard to ignore it, but I've made a startling discovery: cable is much easier to ignore when you simply don't have it. Go figure. As I'm trying to use it as sparingly as possible, I'm still ignorant about all the shows the kids watch nowadays...but you know where cable shines sometimes? The late-night movie, oh my yes. Fuck sleep! By staying up until all hours I've caught a wide variety of cinema, from the Val Lewton/Jacques Tourneur classic The Leopard Man to Bloodfist IV, V, and VIII (starring Don "The Dragon" Wilson, 'natch) to a movie I recorded but haven't watched yet because in my mind it's almost the perfect movie, but I'm sure the reality of it just won't compare to what I've imagined: Mind Over Murder, starring Tori Spelling as a telepathic, crime-investigating prosecutor.

Anyway, my point is that remake of The Fog is on in a while and I'm going to watch it. Oh, yes I am. And you're kinda going to watch it with me, because I'm going to write about it while I watch it. Yes, it'll be exactly as if we're watching it together, except I won't have to share my snacks with you. Forgive me if the rest of this post is weird, but that may be the price we all pay for innovation. Oh, and there's bound to be spoilers, so ye be warned!

See, you should know by now that I love the original film. We all know that the remake was panned by everybody. I didn't pay to see it in a theatre, and I won't pay to rent it...but damn, this is what late-night TV is for, ain't it? It won't cost me any money to see The Fog '05, but it very well might cost me my soul...and I'm taking you all with me! I'll see you in hell!

Alright, people...let's get it on. I give you...The New Fog Which Everyone Hates.

Aww, man. This was one of the last films Debra Hill produced before she died. That sucks for many, many reasons.

Instead of the creepy campfire tale opening of the original (which really sets a tone, you know?), we get...some boats on fire and some dudes in a rowboat rowing away. Then a hand pops up out of the water and pulls one of the dudes out of the boat...are the guys in the boats lepers? They don't look like lepers, although I can't say I've ever actually seen a leper. I just assume they're missing body parts, such as noses and ears and maybe a chin. Or do the lepers in The Fog '05 live under the water? I sure hope all my questions are answered!

Oh good...a loud modern rock track as we pan past Antonio Island...wait, there's Selma Blair's voice as Stevie Wayne- ugh. Is KAB a rock station now? These damn kids and their loud music! It's all just noise! And I KNOW I can't simply keep comparing this film to the original, but for the record: Selma Blair's voice is no Adrienne Barbeau's voice. And now Stevie's related to a Founding Father? Must...not...compare...films...............

We're 6 minutes in. Why the fuck are the credits still rolling?

There's Tom Welling, who seems to be the captain of a boat. We'll call him Captain Smallville. And there's...a black guy? A BLACK GUY? Umm, there were no black guys in the original film, fer chrissakes! Everyone knows there are no black people in Antonio Bay! GAWD.

That was a joke. See? It's just like we're hanging out.

Ohhhh...Captain Smallville is the Tom Atkins character. And he's boinked Stevie Wayne this go-round. This movie is suddenly making me feel very old. These damn kids and their loud music!

Uh oh. Some long-haired dude with a metal detector has found a pocketwatch which washed up on the beach. The music is indicating that I should be scared...ahh! A slimy hand has also washed up on the beach! I think it was a hand. Yes, let's call it a hand.

Birds are leaving Antonio Bay in huge flocks, and dogs are barking madly! And there's a dead...something on the dock! What the hell is that? It looks like a baby bear. Is there a baby bear on the dock? Here comes someone...oh, he's crying over the dead thing, but he doesn't indicate whether or not it's actually a bear. I'm going to assume it is. Mayhaps the circus is in town.

Oh, here's New Jamie Lee Curtis. She and Captain Smallville already know each other in That Special Way, it seems. You know, Captain Smallville has such nicely manicured fingernails for an old Salt O' the Sea...I wonder how he does it. Must be Palmolive!

Stevie Wayne plays house music. I.................

Metal Detector Dude gives New Jamie Lee Curtis the pocketwatch he found. It ticks! It ticks! OH GOD HELP US ALL, IT STILL TICKS!

New Charles Cyphers is telling Stevie Wayne about the big fat fog bank headed their way. But what about the kids partying on The Sea Grass? They're drunk and horny! They care not for the fog! Their carefree ways will be their ultimate undoing...their folly, if you will. HERE IT COMES!

Wow, that's some terrible CGI.

See! The fog enter the ventilation shafts of the boat! Cut! Away to a boring conversation between Captain Smallville and New Jamie Lee Curtis! Well done. Now we meet Father New Hal Holbrook- he's really drunk and really greasy and really sweaty. Oh wait, back to The Sea Grass.

OK, so the fog shows up and there's a ghost ship but then the ghost ship vanishes. One of the party girls does some automatic writing on a fogged-up window...look out, it's the scales of justice. That's so much more frightening than a piece of wood that proclaims "6 must die". Wait, never mind, I'm not comparing the films. OK, so...uh, everyone on The Sea Grass dies, I guess. The party girls get thrown through windows, Unnamed Guy gets stabbed in the eye (but this is PG-13 so it's not explicit), and The Black Guy is enveloped in the fog and he screams. So long, Sea Grass. So long, Black Guy.

Aww, New Jamie Lee Curtis doesn't get along with her mom. For shame. Now there's a smooth jazz-flavored shower sex scene between NJLC and Captain Smallville. Uh oh...someone's pounding on the door in a menacing fashion...no wait, New Jamie Lee Curtis only dreamt it. And she's also having flashbacks to the burning boats from the beginning of the film. Oh brother.

AND NOW SHE'S ON GOOGLE.

Oh fucking brother. AND THE GHOSTS JUST MADE HER COMPUTER SCREEN GO ALL CUCKOO CRAZY. Wait, now there really is someone banging on the door in a menacing fashion...but nothing happens. New Jamie Lee Curtis goes out onto the beach and sees a single set of footprints disappearing into the sea, as if that poem about God that you find on wooden plaques at the Hallmark store is unfolding all around her. And...there's the worst jump scare EVAR. Seriously, it was a horn blat pulled straight from Duran Duran's "A View to a Kill" as Capt. Smallville grabs NJLC's shoulder. The fog retreats!

There's Stevie Wayne's kid, Andy. He finds something on the beach and brings it home- it's...it's...a barnacle-covered hairbrush. It's a hairbrush. That's gross! Gross, but not scary. How's it going to transform into a warning sign? Is it going to brush Stevie's hair into a big swirling ponytail that reads "6 must die"? I hope so.

NJLC and Capt Smallville just took a boat out and found The Sea Grass. Then they found all the dead bodies, and I found myself laughing at the horrendously bad acting. Wow. And why is NJLC wearing a coat that's right outta Sergeant Fucking Pepper? Oh, The Black Guy is frozen...but umm, still alive. And now he's being blamed for all the other deaths. But have no fear! Capt Smallville has stolen some evidence- a videocamera- which might prove The Black Guy's innocence! Good job, Smallville. It's certainly best to keep something like that out of the hands of the police. Wait, NJLC is watching the footage...yup, it sure proves his innocence! WHOOPS! NJLC fell in the water and the camera is ruined. Aw dang. And now she can't get out for some reason...but oh! She has found a book or something behind some bricks in the wall and this movie fucking sucks. If the contents of that waterlogged book are legible after 100 years or however long it's been, I swear I'm punching this movie in the neck.

OK, crazy stuff is happening over at KAB! There's weird windchime sounds and pounding and her computer screen is going nuts and god help me the fucking hairbrush caught on fire. I repeat: the hairbrush caught on fire. Then the wall caught on fire. Then Stevie put the fire out and...and...there are tiny scales of justice burnt into the wall everywhere.

Who thought that was a good idea? Or even a remotely frightening one?

NJLC brought the book to Father New Hal Holbrook and it's all totally legible. Excuse me for a moment.

OK, so someone is spray painting the scales of justice on tombstones. SPRAY PAINTING. I can't...

NJLC is wandering around the morgue (don't ask) and the guy who got a knife in the eye and is dead gets up from the gurney...and he's fully-clothed...and his eye looks fine. He says "Blood for blood" and collapses to the floor. Meh. This is getting really really bad.

The fog just pulled Metal Detector Dude out to sea. And now it's enveloping Mrs Kobritz's house. OK, it's also enveloped the weather station and now New Charles Cyphers is gonna get it. Hey, finally a black figure in the f- oh, now it's gone. New Charles Cyphers dropped his lantern and set himself on fire. Now, somehow, he's flying through the air...you know, I don't think it should have been hard to update Carpenter's film and make it...ummm...scary. This blows. And so does Selma Blair. This is the only thing I've seen her in- is she always this bad? Or is it that the material is so awful? There's absolutely no tension here, and the fog itself doesn't seem like a threat whatsoever. And it's also pretty ridiculous for Stevie Wayne to get on the radio and say "This is an emergency! There's a fire at the weather station and New Charles Cyphers has been killed! Someone go and check on my son!" Selfish much, there, Stevie?

Ah, flashback...now there's some lepers. I spotted a missing lip!

Umm...so, Mrs Kobritz...you know, that scene in the original was so great- when she answered the slow knocks at the door and Andy was all scared and all the ghosts appeared and killed her. Well, I know I said I wouldn't compare, but...in the new version...Mrs Kobritz was doing dishes and a hand reached out from the sink and touched her and she...I don't know, was suddenly charred to death. All that matters here is that a hand reached out of the kitchen sink.

Ladies and Gentlemen, Stevie Wayne has left the lighthouse! She's driving to get her kid...wow, Selma Blair is dreadful. Oh, now some CGI fog has crept in through her airvents...oh! And she just got hit by a truck...over a cliff...and into the drink she goes! Please...I never thought I'd say this, but please...kill Stevie Wayne. Yay! Go, stupid CGI ghosts! Hold her under water! Almost there! Almost-- dammit! She escaped.

And Andy escaped some more stupid CGI fog ghosts thanks to Captain Smallville.

I can't...I can't even describe how ridiculous this is getting.

Lengthy flashback to Captain Blake and Company getting screwed over by the Founding Fathers. Everyone is gathered together in the Not A Church, and I'm desperately hoping this final siege will be brief. The ghosts are...see-through CGI. And they talk. And they set people on fire. And omigod NJLC is making out with the ghost of Captain Blake what the fuuuuuuuck? She turned into a ghost? Her ancestor was one of the lepers and so she made out with the ghost of Captain Blake and she turned into a ghost and the fog disappeared and that's it? SHE MADE OUT WITH CAPTAIN BLAKE AND SHE TURNED INTO A GHOST.

I really can't believe what I just saw. Were I speaking and not typing, I'd be speechless. But since I'm typing, I'll say that everyone who claimed this movie was a total suckfest was absolutely correct- and that has nothing to do with the fact that it's a remake and everything to do with the fact that it sucks. Fuck The Fog '05. Now get out of my house, I'm going to bed!

navel-gazing

So I got "tagged" with another "meme" by two "bastards", Dr Criddle and Squish, wherein:

1. First, those tagged must explain the rules, as I am currently doing.
2. Secondly, share no more or less than eight facts about yourself.
3. Thirdedly, tag eight of your unsuspecting blogger friends, who are thereby contractually bound by law to do the same. If you do not comply, you will be fed to the crocodiles.

Normally I avoid these meme things as if they're walking Ebola pies- not to mention that I keep Final Girl pretty personal-life free, but today I'm feeling a curious combination of laziness and magnanimity, so why the eff not? Besides, it's nice that people want to know eight things about me (thanks, ya bastards). Let's see if I'll have any readers left after revealing these Fantastamazing Eight Facts.

1. One of my rock star dreams (don't we all have at least one?) is to be the woman who sings back up on Black Oak Arkansas's's's's "Jim Dandy". I have no idea what she looks like for real, but in my dreams she's a total skank who does nothing but chain smoke, chug Wild Turkey, and sing "Jim Dandy" in cut off jean-shorts and some tassled t-shirt.

UPDATE: Oh. My. GAWD. Awesome reader pal Theron tracked down a picture of this woman and...well, see for yourself how close I was in my assessment. Call me Nostramuthafuckingdamus! Ladies and gentlemen...Ruby Starr!


2. When I was in 1st grade, my class took a field trip to the beach. I was collecting rocks and shells and stuff, and I found this one amazingly cool-looking rock that I was sure was a moon rock or a miniature meteorite or something- I couldn't wait to show my parents! When I got home and pulled the moon rock out of the bag, my mom said "That's an old peach pit! It's garbage! Throw it away!" Thankfully my child-like innocence recovered quickly.

3. I have this weird phobia thing about wet, loose hair- and I had it even before J-Horror hit it big. It's just gross, especially if it's not mine. Let's put it this way: should I ever be summoned to Room 101 of the Ministry of Love, there'll be some sort of device awaiting me that holds the contents of Kenny G's shower drain.

4. I don't know why, but when I get really happy/excited about something, I tend to cry...not like wailing and pulling my hair, but...you know. I shed a tear or two. Still, it can be embarrassing, like the time I cried when I went to the circus.

When I was 30.

5. When I worked at Large Chain Bookstore in NYC, I was bookseller to the stahs, dahling! I sold fondue cookbooks to Heather Locklear, VC Andrews books to Sarah McLachlan, and I helped Sigourney Weaver pick out some fiction for a friend. The only person I actually said "Hey, I like your work" to, however, was Amanda Plummer. Oh, and this one time, I answered the phone and the person said "Hi, who's this?" and I replied "This is Large Chain Bookstore."...she said "I know, I mean, who's speaking?". I totally hated giving my name out to customers, and so for some reason I blurted out "This is Juice".

6. Someone should nominate me for What Not to Wear because my wardrobe is in a sad, sad state at the moment- when I moved recently, I only took enough clothes to fill a single large suitcase. It was an amazing show of control and prowess at the time, but now I have no clothes and I'm too poor to buy nice new things. And I don't know how to dress myself. I mean, I understand the concept of dressing myself, like, I'm not walking around with pants on my head wondering why everyone is looking at me all funny. I mean, I'm not sure exactly what I want to wear. Another reason to nominate me is that I think Stacy London is the shit.

Not that I watch TV.

7. Despite (or because of, maybe) my life-long penchant for watching horror movies, I have led quite a nightmare-free life. I remember, when I was maybe 2 or 3, walking past a movie theatre advertising It's Alive. The image on the poster scared me so badly that I could hardly sleep that night and when I did drift off, I had bad dreams. And once when I was in college, I dreamed that a homicidal midget dressed up like Where's Waldo? was chasing me around campus with murderous intent. But those are the only nightmares I remember at all.


8. I can juggle, 3 items max. I'm self-taught! It's not as handy a skill as you might think, however.

Whew. I'm glad that's over with. I know I'm supposed to "tag" some more people, but...crocodiles be damned, this meme- much like the cheese- dies alone.

Wait, the cheese only stood alone. Meh, whatevs.

Don't you feel so much closer to me now?

List Time!

In light of the recent spate of crapola that I've dealt with lately, I decided to reminisce for a bit in order to remind myself that there really are good slasher flicks out there. After staring at the wall and thinking for an hour with a big dumb smile on my face and the slightest hint of drool at the corner of my mouth, a list started to formulate. "Yes," said I softly, "A list! Everyone loves lists. But oh, whatever shall I list? Worst Slasher Hairstyles? Top 6 Pairs of Leg Warmers? Best End Credit Songs? No, those are for another day. Today, I shall keep it simple. Yes, simple. Barkeep! Another Rusty Nail, if you please."

Anyway, yes lists like this are totally subjective and you're free to disagree with me, though I must tell you...disagreeing with me makes you a jerk. But you know, whatevs. Do whatever you want. And now...

The Top 10 Slashers That Aren't Halloween, Friday the 13th, The Texas Chain Saw Massacre, or A Nightmare on Elm Street!

10. Terror Train (1980)



I realize that the last time I watched Terror Train (when I reviewed it), I wasn't terribly enamored. But guess what? I gave it another shot recently and I must say...I softened a bit. I still think the Gene Shalit mask is more hilarious than frightening, but the film does have some effectively scary sequences. While the film perfectly fits within the slasher paradigm, the setting (and yes, even the "illusion" theme running throughout) separates Terror Train from the pack.

See? I can change my mind.

9. He Knows You're Alone (1980)



There's a sense of...I don't know, maturity, maybe, that elevates He Knows You're Alone above the typical horny teen-style slasher. Maybe it's the quality of the acting (including a young Tom Hanks in he first onscreen role), or the fact that the women are about to become brides instead of camp counselors; whatever it is, it makes the film a slasher flick for people who don't dig slasher flicks.

Look for the 'movie theatre scene' that was later ripped off...errr, referenced in Scream 2.

8. Hell Night (1981)



Come on, people, let's gork out! This Linda Blair-in-a-poofy-blouse fueled flick is full of more gothic atmosphere and scares than your average episode of Dark Shadows. And you know what? I can't stand Dark Shadows. There, I said it. But I loves me some Hell Night. Often overlooked, it's one of the more original unoriginal films from that magical era.

That makes sense if you think about it.

7. House on Sorority Row (1983)



Here's another slasher film that's often overlooked. House on Sorority Row takes the oft-repeated "prank that comes back to bite you in the ass" formula and manages to make it frightening. Detractors bemoan the lack of gore here, but I'd rather have atmosphere and scares than graphic violence any day- even in my slasher flicks.

6. April Fool's Day (1986)

Folks seem to be fairly divided on April Fool's Day: they love it, or they're jerks.

I kid. The twist ending of this film doomed it at the box office and tends to turn people off...but hey, it works for me. The caliber of the performances really makes April Fool's Day something special- particularly that of the awesome Deborah Foreman. She should be in every movie.

Sorry, I can't find anything on YouTube for this film. YouTube are jerks!

5. The Burning (1981)



Rumor has it that The Burning will be soon seeing a DVD release, something fans have been clamoring for for ages now. The film sticks to the tried-and-true formula: a scary dude stalks teens at a summer camp. So what makes The Burning notable? Well, for starters, Cropsy- that "scary dude"- is actually scary. Add in some prime work from FX maestro Tom Savini, unusual and effective kill sequences (particularly the infamous "raft scene), and those damn garden shears and you've got a flick that's rightfully earned its cult reputation.

4. Just Before Dawn (1980)



From the isolated location to the eerie, perfect soundtrack to the damn crazy cuckoo nutso twins to George Kennedy, Just Before Dawn is unsettling and frightening. This film is a prime example of how effective formula can be when it's well-done all around.

3. My Bloody Valentine (1981)



Another example of getting the formula oh-so-right, this Canadian effort is helped along by a fantastic location (a dark and labyrinthine coal mine) and a truly frightening killer, pissed-off miner Harry Warden.

It seems so easy to get it right- how come so many slasher films get it wrong?

2. Scream (1996)



If spawning countless inferior copycat knockoff flicks is the hallmark of a great film, then it should be no surprise that Wes Craven's Scream is near the top of the list. This movie resurrected the dead and stale slasher genre as it managed to be both cheeky and truly fucking frightening. Unfortunately, the copycats only looked to Scream's self-referential aspects and overlooked the fact that the film also sticks to the formula and does it well. The laughs are balanced- outweighed, even- by some of Craven's finest work; the famous opening sequence ("Do you like scary movies?") is undoubtedly one of the scariest in any horror film.

In its wake, the slasher film quickly became diluted once more with inferior flicks and countless parodies- it's easy to overlook and/or forget how powerful Scream truly is. Kevin Williamson and Wes Craven managed to simultaneously update the formula and adhere to it- that's the sign of a true landmark effort.

1. Black Christmas (1974)



Was there any doubt I'd have this at number 1? It's scary and I love it. 'Nuff said.

nunzapoppin'

I didn't watch the 1975 lesbo-possesso-vampiro flick Alucarda with the intent of reviewing it. I know, I know...this might be hard for you to hear, but...sometimes I watch things and I don't tell you about it. I'm not trying to keep secrets or anything, honest. It's simply nice sometimes to watch movies without having to apply my keen critical insight, not to have to come up with jokes on the fly or think up nicknames for people in the movie or find a way to place a real turd of a flick within the cinematic cultural landscape. In other words, you know, to just watch a damn film. Wah wah, it's so hard having a movie blog.

I hope this news isn't too shocking or duplicitous-seeming. Remember, it's me, not you, and we'll always be friends, I swear.

Anyway, the cover art for Alucarda has intrigued me for quite some time and as I was taught to always judge a book by its cover (GAWD I hope no ugly people read Final Girl), I decided to finally give the movie a try. My expectations were...not exactly low, necessarily, but seeing as that the DVD release hails from Mondo Macabro, I certainly had an idea of what was in store for me: super fake blood, tits, and any manner of "-ploitation" from all around the world. Don't get me wrong- Mondo Macabro flicks are a lot of fun (if you haven't seen Dangerous Seductress or Lady Terminator yet, I suggest you do so ASAP for a craptacular good time), but not typically something I'd review here. But dammit, slap my knee and call me Debralee Scott- there's something to this so-called Alucarda...and so here we are, together on The Internet, me writing and you reading. Whooda thunkit?

Welcome to the convent: they've got fun and games an odd, cave-like structure set deep in the countryside- a place where orphaned girls can live and learn about God from nuns who dress like blood-stained mummies and flagellate themselves somewhat regularly. New arrival Justine (Susana Kamini) and lifer Alucarda (Tina Romero) strike up a friendship that quickly evolves to include copious amounts of frolicking and secret-keeping. That spells trouble!

After crossing paths with a gypsy (Claudio Brook) who hints at the aforementioned trouble, the girls frolic their way into a crypt. Alucarda is drawn to a coffin and opens it- little does she know that the dessicated corpse inside is actually her mother. Oh noes! Opening the coffin releases some evil spirits or something, and Alucarda flips out.

Somehow, it seems, the girls have just been inducted into Satan's Junior Cadets. What does this mean? It means that Justine and Alucarda totally hate God now and invoke the name of Satan to the horror of the entire convent. It means the girls scream a lot and can't stand the sight of a crucifix. It means the gypsy magically appears in their room one night and helps the girls perform their blood pact in service to Satan: Justine and Alucarda get naked, cut each other, drink each other's blood a bit, and make out. I know how that reads on paper, yet somehow this scene managed to be about as erotic as an average episode of Matlock. The girls are then led to the gypsy camp where everyone is naked and hairy and dancing around in a circle; the orgy proper begins and Beelzebub appears- well, I wasn't sure if it was actually supposed to be Beelzebub or if it was a gypsy in a ceremonial Beelzebub mask, but I suppose it makes no difference. The girls are now officially Satan's Little Helpers!

Meanwhile, back at the convent, Sister Angelica (Tina French), ever protective of Justine and Alucarda, feels that evil is afoot and so she begins to pray super ultra hard. She prays so super ultra hard, in fact, that she begins to sweat blood and leviatate, which was pretty fucking cool. That actually happened to me right before I took the SATs- man, I was nervous about getting into the college of my choice.

Later on, the girls' behavior gets so outrageous (more screaming, more Satan's name-invoking) that the priests and nuns begin ruminating on the possibility that the girls are possessed. When Justine takes dreadfully ill, Dr Oszek (Claudio Brook) is called in to treat her; when his leeches don't seem to take care of the problem, it becomes clear: the girls are, in fact, possessed. That means...it's exorcismin' time!

Justine and Alucarda are each tied to a cross while the nuns writhe around on the floor and scream. Justine is stripped nude (naturally) and...poked with a nail or something (again, naturally) until she's dead. Dr Oszek rushes in and berates everyone for this bizarre exercise in making no sense; before they can kill Alucarda as well, he takes her away to his house and to safety.

Little does he know, however, that the members of the convent were right- the girls were possessed! Whilst lying in shroud and awaiting burial, Justine's body disappears; the nun who was attending the body is found burned to death. She springs back to life, however, and must be decapitated- this is enough to prove to Dr Oszek that science is bunk and there's definitely something supernatural going on here.

Sister Angelica finds Justine in the crypt, lying in a coffin full of blood. Justine scratches and bites Angelica to death before being killed- for good this time!- by some refreshing spritzes of holy water.

Alucarda, meanwhile, has befriended Dr Oszek's blind daughter Daniela (Lili Garza). The two return to the convent where Alucarda, still pissed off over Justine's death, lays the smack down all Sissy Spacek in Carrie style, tearing down the building and setting people on fire.

You know, if I ever had to be (or decided to be) possessed, I'd much rather follow Alucarda's example than that of Regan in The Exorcist. I mean, really. What did Regan do? She got gross and laid in bed all the time, that's what she did. Alucarda keeps her good looks, and all she has to do to set a nun on fire is glare and yell "Beelzebub!". She's a proactive minion of Satan, and Regan sure seems awfully lazy in comparison.

As Alucarda rampages, some nuns carry in the dead body of Sister Angelica. Angelica suddenly opens her eyes, and Alucarda simply can't stand up to Angelica's Super Stare of Piety. I think George Michael said it best when he said

'Cause I gotta have faith...
Mmm, I gotta have faith
'Cause I gotta have faith, faith
Mmm 'cause I gotta have faith-a-faith-a-faith-a

Alucarda is an odd duck to be sure, but one worth checking out if only for the visuals alone. Director Juan Lopez Moctezuma has created a bizarre, surreal world full of striking imagery, particularly in regards to the setting. At times it's blatantly artificial, an approach which, when coupled with the cast's tendency to overact, gives the film an almost fairy tale-like quality.

Despite the trashy overtones and the irritating amount of screaming (seriously, there's more screaming here than there was when The Beatles played Wembley in '64), it seems as if there just might be a deeper meaning to Alucarda. Mexican filmmakers of the era, after all, were much like American filmmakers of the era; by and large they sought to provide a viewpoint and/or social commentary in their work. Is Alucarda, then, perhaps an indictment of the Catholic Church? It's entirely possible that it is, particularly if one views the "possession" in the film as an allegory for "free love" or even homosexuality. On the other hand, sometimes a cigar is just a cigar and a movie about vaguely lesbian Catholic girls who become possessed by Satan and turn into fire-starting pseudo-vampires is just a movie about vaguely lesbian Catholic girls who become possessed by Satan and turn into fire-starting pseudo-vampires.