Music by Nox Arcana. It’s very VIY. But I think this little film freaking rules.
Music by Nox Arcana. It’s very VIY. But I think this little film freaking rules.
The Creep in the Art Department is currently tweaking it. We’ll see.
The Inspiration/Direction given was WITCHFINDER. Behold this glorious illustration of Vincent Price as Matthew Hopkins by Abel Mvada
ALBUM OF THE WEEKEND: Resonate/Reason Nitrate by Tonepoet & Wings Of An Angel
ANIME OF THE WEEKEND: MARDOCK SCRAMBLE
THE HORROR SHOW DOUBLE FEATURE: THE TAKING OF DEBORAH LOGAN
…which rated a solid B+
THE WARD, John Carpenter, Director
…which was (sadly) pedestrian and offered nothing more original and scary than a sub-par made-for-cable snorefest. C-
We’ll see you tomorrow, True Believers.
LADIES IN RETIREMENT (1941)
HELLO, this is Drax on the I-radio and we are PAGING @mlleghoul! Holy fucking shit, LADIES IN RETIREMENT (1941) screams your name! It has everything in your soul: Weird Sisters! Insanity! HIGH ANXIETY RE REAL ESTATE AND LIVING CONDITIONS. Gloomy trees and ancient English Cottages and MEN WHO BEHAVE VERY BADLY AND TAKE ADVANTAGE OF DESPERATE WOMEN and death, and murder. It’s all you, honey.
AGAINST THE DARK (2009)
HE LIVES BY THE SWORD. THEY WILL DIE BY IT.
Buzzzzz-ka-ZAMP! Back on the radio and paging @malcoJOJO! Wow, surely one of Seagal’s lowest moments but a surprisingly entertaining romp and chase and chew through a vampire-infested hospital! Seagal and his black-clad vampire hit-squad are like a squadron of imperial TIE Fighters from fucking Star Wars: They zoom in! They strike with no mercy! They speak little! They zoom out! Meanwhile, packs of hapless humans trapped in the hospital argue incessantly about WHICH WAY TO GO under constantly flickering buzzing lights, because “The generator will fail any minute!” Science 101 to both third graders and filmmakers: generators don’t work that way. Anyway, Against The Dark offers one or two surprising twists and flashes of originality. Check it out with your kids, a very drunk friend, or the weird lady down the street who’s in dire need of an escape from her grim reality. Do it!
THE ORDER (2003)
BZZZ-ZAKA-ZAKA-ZOMP! Yes, still on the radio waves and paging @gfstudio and @casketglass! Holy fucking cats on fire, THE ORDER is the hottest of hot messes ever belched from a blender! Kids, BEWARE THE ALLURE OF THE DREAM/PET PROJECT. I’m talking about Battlefield Earth by John Travolta or DOOMTROOPERS by Simon Drax: beware the pet project! It always fails.
Because THE ORDER, written, produced, and directed by Oscar Winner Brian Helgeland is clearly a piece of shit “epic” he carried around in his head for decades. Warrior priests! Evil children! Demons! Sexy ethereal girlfriend! Immortals! SIN EATERS!
There’s nothing sadder than watching/reading/witnessing a piece of “art” that obviously entailed a shitload of blood and sweat and tears but by the final reel, by the last page, it’s just a piece of shit, man.
BBBBZZZZZZZT… and we’re off the air.
God’s Not Dead really moved and inspired me; it actually had me crying at the end, for reasons which involve many elements that this little film attempted to articulate, namely, contradiction.
“Contradiction and complexity are the only things worth writing about.” — me, circa late 90s, again and again.
Rest assured, this film did NOT turn me into a believer. No I don’t believe in Jesus, I don’t believe in god, not before, and not now, far from it. God’s Not Dead is a pop glossy Christian advert about a college student who is a devout believer and enters combative debates with his atheist professor. This fucking film trashes atheists to the point of bigotry; it contains many scenes that strain credulity; it actually concludes with the main characters cheering a Christian pop band with soaring anthemic guitars.
And I loved it.
Because it was the spirit of what the film attempted to communicate: Don’t give up. Don’t hate. Life on Earth is an amazing gift, and we should be whispering thanks with every given breath.
I am an Atheist. And a Humanist. And a Polytheist. And a Pagan. Are these contradictions? Yes. So what? “I am large, I contain multitudes.” — Harlan Ellison
Ayn Rand claimed there were no contradictions in nature. It’s too bad the bitch never understood human nature.
Anyway, this is a good movie. Check it out.
It wasn’t long ago that Neill Blomkamp took to Instagram to post some concept photos of an Alien film he could have been working on and then abandoned. However, it seems the tides have turned in Blomkamp’s favor and, in the past couple of days, news has been rolling in continuously about the South African director directing a fifth installment in the Alien franchise. Not only that, but it seems the rumors are true: Signourney Weaver will be reprising her role as Ripley.
Sky Media was able to get in touch with both Neill Blomkamp and Sigourney Weaver regarding the announcements, and it seems that everything will be moving forward with the idea that Ripley will receive a “proper ending” to her tale. During the talk, Blomkamp hinted to the fact that his film may ignore the continuity of the last two Alien films in the franchise, Alien 3 and Alien: Resurrection.
“I want this film to feel like it is literally the genetic sibling of ‘Alien.’ So it’s ‘Alien,’ ‘Aliens’ and then this movie.”
Some of the concept art also revealed that Corporal Dwayne Hicks (played by Michael Biehn of Terminator fame) will be in Blomkamp’s film, further alluding that he aims to ignore the last two films.
Worth revisiting: Demeter In Outer Space: The Mythic Cycle of Ellen Ripley
So I finally took my son to see the stupid Guardians of the Galaxy movie the other day—and trust me, it is an exceedingly stupid and bad movie for reasons I will explicate shortly—but my son “loved it.” My son is an optimist. He makes the most of everything. If it’s a movie? “AWESOME!” If it’s a peanut butter and jelly sandwich? “AWESOME!”
But even he could feel the vibe as we took our seats.
The stupid movie had opened nearly a month before. We went to a noon showing on a Sunday attended by MAYBE 50-75 people in a theater capable of seating 1,500 and man, those taking their seats were nearly all dads with their kids. No moms. The moms knew what I knew—this film was going to suck. So, call me psychic! I could tell my son was readying himself for a disappointment.
I didn’t want it to go that way. He had already returned to school, but it was Labor Day weekend, he wanted to see the big stupid Marvel Comics Movie, and I was determined he would have a good time.
So I became three things. 1: A liar, 2: The idiot who screams in the movie theater, and 3: The moron who applauds every time something blows up.
Also, I had a card up my sleeve. Drax, man. Drax The Destroyer.
DRAX THE DESTROYER was created by Mike Friedrich and Jim Starlin in the early seventies, and Drax was a pretty bad-ass character for Marvel comics. He dies. Is resurrected. Fashioned into a living weapon of vengeance. It was Drax The Destroyer from whom I drew my chosen surname, NOT Lord Dunsany, NOT Hugo Drax from Moonraker of the James Bond series, NOT the scary-ass power plant in England. Drax The Destroyer. He was green, he was nuts, he was tough as shit.
I thought the pseudonym “Simon Drax” would induce either terror or ridicule. Both reactions suited me fine.
Sitting in the theater watching Guardians of the Galaxy with my son, whenever Drax appeared on screen, I very loudly howled
My son was a bit embarrassed but still highly amused, and nobody in the scant audience cared. As a matter of fact, every time I screamed “DRAAAAAX!” there were titters of laughter in the dark. And screaming at the screen for a single character is not solely the propriety of the obnoxious moviegoer. Example: Rocky Horror. “BORING!” and “WHERE’S YOUR FUCKING NECK?!” And more: I saw Jim Cameron’s ALIENS ten times in the theater in the summer of 1986, and every time this babe showed up—
— all the cool guys in the audience screamed
My voice was the loudest. At least it seemed that way. Vasquez and ALIENS rocked.
Unsurprisingly, Guardians of the Galaxy did not rock.
I made sure my son had a good time. I screamed “Draaaaax,” we applauded when shit blew up, etc. But it was not a good movie. Not even close.
Guardians of the Galaxy is an instantly forgettable assemblage of set pieces and dumb idiotic jokes and “spectacular” effects, and though I kept my son in a good, attentive mood—becoming, in effect, a liar, encouraging my son to applaud for shit—bad dad, bad bad bad dad—mentally, I was in Hell. I kept shaking my head. WHO CARES? Any of it. Who cares? The silver ball? The cameo of Thanos? That the main characters become friends? The Kirby-created villain?
In Alan Moore’s anthemic essay Writing for Comics, Moore uses “Who cares?” as a mantra as he rips apart bad comics, bad storytelling, bad writing. There’s never been a more successful writer than Moore who’s been more adversarial to the film industry in the adaptation of his comics into movies. He’s walked away from thousands, shaken his head at millions of dollars in payment for adaptations of his work. In many ways Alan Moore is Planet Earth’s last honorable man. He just won’t take that fat stack of cash. He has a simple theory: There are good comics, there are good movies, but they are not interchangeable. One can not necessarily be successfully morphed into the other.
I agree with him one hundred percent. Know your form.
The makers of “blockbuster” Hollywood comic book movies would do well to study how intelligent, successful comics actually work as opposed to replicating again and again and again the structure of the cinematic hit based on its opening box-office haul, the demographics, the popular plot points or story arc based on previous movies rather than the source material, or the fact that the movies they make merely contain characters and elements and lines of dialogue and design schematics of the comics they are mauling that they KNOW the fans will flock to. The makers of Guardians should have read more good comics.
I don’t care that the Guardians of the Galaxy movie sucked, actually. I have better things to worry about. As a matter of fact, it was MISSION ACCOMPLISHED: my son had a good time. Even if I had to become a liar, even if I had to become a bad father, even if I encouraged him to applaud for a piece of shit. It was like giving him candy I knew would rot his teeth.
I screamed “Draaaaaax,” to the audience’s semi-hilarity, my son was amused, we appreciated the theater’s AC, we ate all of our popcorn. He had a good time. Mission accomplished.
So what’s my problem?
Glossy pieces of shit that cost millions of dollars while children are dying of hunger and thirst, movies that distort original visions of the creators, and the sad fact that I am a participant in these crimes. I might scream my chosen name in a dark theater for yucks—but I’m just as guilty as the assholes I just spent 1000 words bitching about.