Blood Capsule #55


I've been a casual KISS fan for awhile now, so I figured I should finally watch their bizarro made-for-TV movie that solidified their cartoon cachet.  I expected cheese, and yeah, it's cheesy.  On a scale from almogrote to cervelle de canut, Phantom of the Park is...well, it's cheesy.  Supposedly, it's based on a KISS comic book.  Man, I need to read that motherfucker, if only to see if the plot holes are similarly stretched beyond the limits of wisdom.  The "phantom" is a mad scientist by the name of Abner Devereaux.  He creates robot monsters in the bowels of an amusement park.  In substance, he's a Scooby Doo villain.

Anthony Zerbe's performance is so over the goddamn top, you have to dig the guy.  Fuck the teenagers.  I want Abner's battery-operated superghouls to rule the world!  We get chalk-faced panther humanoids (!?), kung-fu masters and Universal knock-offs (Dracula, The Mummy, a bloated Frankenstein, etc.).  Oh, and KISS makes several appearances throughout the film.  As the band's votaries already know, Ace Frehley didn't bother to show up to shoot half of his scenes, so his African-American stand-in (no, that's not a joke) handled the fight choreography.  Peter's dialogue is dubbed.  Gene's voice is distorted, so you can't understand anything he says.  Fuck.

Right now, I'm wishing this wasn't a blood capsule.  I could continue clacking about Kiss Meets Blah Blah under the proviso that I would be killed afterward, but hey, quality of life and all that.  Do I recommend it?  Of course.  It's terrible.  Paul Stanley has special laser powers, people.


31? You mean the Rob Zombie movie?

Whoosh!  I took a whole damn week off, didn't I?  A couple of reasons for that.  RAISIN ONE - Yesterday was my 31st birthday, and I spent the whole weekend celebrating with family from out of town.  It was fun!  Actual fun!

RAISIN COUPLE - Resting up for October.  I'll be posting a blood capsule tomorrow, but after that?  All bets are off, pal!  This Halloween, I'm going to review my favorite films of all time (that I haven't reviewed yet).  I've hit Creepshow, but somehow, I have never covered my numero uno scare flick.  How is that possible?  Don't ask this dude.  I will try...TRY to cover five.  We'll see if that happens.  Again, that doesn't start until after the next blood capsule, which is a doozy in and of itself.  Heh.


Night Train to Terror

1985's Night Train to Terror reminded me of a couple of things.  For one, it reminded me of 1957's The Story of Mankind, a morality piece where Vincent Price (as Satan) debates whether or not humanity is inherently pernicious in a court setting.  It's a duffer.  Secondly, it reminded me of my uncle Slobberberry.  The last time I saw him, he shit on his foot to put out a "political fire."  Ol' Slobber spends his days in a madhouse.  He's also not real, but Night Train to Terror is evocative of a mental patient.  It's goddamn wobbly.  You know how Spookies is a composite of two different shoots?  Well, this flick feels like ninety different movies edited together.  In reality, director John Carr united three fright cheapies into a single ludicrous viewing experience.

Carr didn't have to worry about a running narrative; this is an anthology.  We get three "cases" and a wrap-around segment starring God and Satan as themselves.  On a train.  In outer space.  Basically, they are locking horns to see who will collect the souls of people on a night train to terror (sorry, I had to) that is fixing to crash.  So many questions.  Answers?  Yeah, right.  Let's do this!

"The Case of Harry Billings" ~ After an auto-accident, Harry wakes up in a hospital bed.  The nursing staff inoculates him at odd hours, and eventually, he is used in a grisly plot to corral cadavers.  I would say that this is a weird vignette, but they're all fucking weird.  You can tell that there are scenes missing.  On the bright side, the pacing is breakneck.  Richard Moll sighting!

"The Case of Gretta Connors" ~ This is where the b-fun kicks into superlative spurwheels (just roll with me, kids).  Some dude and a porn star are decoyed into an underground death club.  It's a group of rich folks playing outrageously dangerous games, games that involve wrecking balls and Tanzanian stop-motion dragonflies.  Gore is ramped up, though the ending is gloriously daft.  The story simply ends, and we're told that the main couple lived happily ever after.  Okay?

"The Case of Claire Hansen" ~ Um, a Satanic...evil guy attacks various people.  I try to write a synopsis that matches the film, and this shit is brainless.  But fun!  I spotted three stop-motion beasties (!), and on a sidenote, Robert Bristol is AWESOME as Evil Satan Guy.  I'm positive that the character has a name.  Here again, the ending is hysterical, but I wouldn't dare spoil it for you.  Bonus Richard Moll sighting!

"The Night Train" ~ This is the framing device you ordered.  It's fine.  However, it keeps cutting back to a pop/rock music video on the train itself.  We bear its hardships on at least four occasions throughout Night Train to Terror, and each time, it's the same fucking song.  You're telling me that Mama's shoppin' for shoes, huh?  Fuck you!  And fuck your mama!  I don't care where your daddy is, you Loverboy-sucking tosspot!  Man, I'm riled up.  I didn't expect to get angry because I dug this motion picture.  That fucking song.  Great, now I want to fuck.  I really hope my mother doesn't read this review.  Where the hell was I???


October Day

Aren't these kids adorable?  They're dead now, but weren't they adorable?  Hey, they were getting on my nerves.  Ease off.  Nah, I'm just kidding.  They died of cancer.  Again, kidding!  Calm down!

I've been thinking about Halloween a lot lately, and I decided to do something "special" for the site next month.  So for those of you wondering, yes, I'll be doing...something.

Alright!  I'll announce it...sometime.  Before October.  Okey-dokey!  Movie review tomorrow!


Album Cover of the Whatever

You thought I forgot about this "column," didn't you?  Well, I didn't.  I'll just post a cool cover every now and then.  Like this one!  FYI: Vampire is a Swedish death/thrash band.



I recently viewed Luigi Cozzi's Contamination, a decent Alien ripoff.  There, the setting was Earth.  1981's Inseminoid is very nearly the same movie, only set in space.  I can't recall if the planet has a name (LV-Sham?), but the idea is that cosmonauts are traversing grottos on a reconnaissance mission for...jewels?  Signs of life?  Signs of jewel-encrusted life?  Something.  Y'know, it's a generic sci-fi scenario where they don't spell too much out.  I say "they," but the screenplay was drafted by the husband-and-wife team of Nick and Gloria Maley.  This is the sole script they authored.  Typically, they worked as make-up artists on cool flicks such as Arena and Krull.

After Inseminoid, they opted to stick to their day job, and it's easy to see why.  Actually, that's not fair; the script isn't the problem.  I don't dislike this wad of cognate crud.  To be completely honest with you, I can't diagnose Inseminoid's ills or finger the infected areas (ew).  They are simply not palpable.  It's hard to describe what makes this a pedestrian film, but I know that it is.  And yet, I dig what it's serving.  Look at the goddamn DVD cover.  Is it any wonder?  In cinephile parlance, this is a monster movie.  Before you jump out of your suspenders, just know that the monster is...eh.  We see a blurry background shot of Daddy Inseminoid and later on, we see his Full Moon-sized grandpups.  It's disheartening.

Essentially, Peepaw Inseminoid (holy fuck, that's an epic band name) rapes and impregnates Sandy, one of the aforementioned cosmonauts.  She doesn't experience contractions or writhe in the throes of parturition until the closing twenty minutes, so until that happens, she's your slasher.  Sandy goes nucking futs.  Credit Judy Geeson for giving a genuinely impressive performance.  I believed that she was losing her mental faculties under duress.  I'm picturing you wrinkling your temples, but it's more nuanced than you think.  Unfortunately, Sandy is alone in the nuanced department.  The other characters are interchangeable, and the fact that two of the men look alike does NOT help matters.

As you can infer, Inseminoid is a patchwork of pros and cons.  Results may vary.  The pace, however, is an incontrovertible quotient.  It's demonstrably fast, and I do mean fast.  The running time was all used up with gas left in the tank.  This baby is a mover, a shaker, a hyperactive undertaker (?).  It's an easy sit, is what I'm trying to say.  I recommend it, but you will have to deal with halfhearted acting (Geeson excluded), flabby creature effects and questionable narrative jukes.  Did she really need to saw off her foot?  I mean, yeah, it looked alright, but you might as well extirpate yourself.  Heh, extirpate.  I'm such an asshole.


More Stuff I'm Listening to

I remember distinctly saying that I didn't want to create a new "feature," yet here I am collating a second edition of Stuff I'm Listening To.  This is your fault.  I should point out a couple of things.  1) This feature (damn it) spotlights bands I have recently discovered.  This is literally stuff I'm listening to NOW.  Well, maybe not RIGHT NOW as I'm typing.  You know what I mean.  2) It won't always be Christ-raping metal; I dig that shit, but I listen to a wide conglomeration of muzak.  Today, I have two (very) different bands on the docket.

Social Distortion - I kept hearing "Ball and Chain" on Music Choice and thought to myself, "Oh yeah, I remember those guys."  I don't normally go for straight-up punk, but SD doesn't play straight-up punk.  This is punk meshed with blues meshed with rockabilly.  And even outlaw country!  1996's White Light, White Heat, White Trash (my album of choice) is more country than anything on CMT.  It's all depression, whiskey and...well, life.  "Dear Lover" is catchy on an endemic level, as is MTV hit "I Was Wrong."  I love Mike Ness's weathered voice.  Slick your hair back, dangle a cigarette from your lips and blast this American-made gut rock from your Chevrolet.

Jungle Rot - I'll be perfectly honest.  I have only heard one Jungle Rot record start-to-finish, 2015's Order Shall Prevail.  And it's fucking ferocious.  Prime death metal with a clawful of Dying Fetus-style slams thrown in for good measure.  They also remind me of Exhumed in the way that they knit tasty leads into organ-scrunching thrashers.  Which organ?  Pick one.  Then let Jungle Rot scrunch the shit out of it.  The main riff of "E.F.K." should do the trick.  EAT!  FUCK!  KILL!


The Kiss: Mini-Capsule

Unfortunately, I don't have much time to write about 1988's The Kiss, and I'll be offline for most of the weekend.  But!  That doesn't change the fact that this film was much, much more palatable than I was expecting.  I don't know why, but I was under the impression that The Kiss was a lowborn bathing b-beauty.  Like, the cinematic equivalent of a gutter slut.  Make no mistake; it's punctured with slip-ups, but it actually has a budget in the seven-digit range.  The first act is intriguing, and the special effects are primarily solid (the less said about Demon Cat, the better).

Plotty-plot-plot?  Um, raging voodoo cunt tries to pass curse to cute niece.  Why did I compile the synopsis as if it were a newspaper headline?  I told you I was pressed for time.  Stay at my level.  Anyway, this is fun stuff with a finale so over the top, you have to giggle.  Pure 80's creamer.

Maybe on Monday, I'll finally get around to another Stuff I'm Listening To.  Maybe!


Blood Capsule #54


I was held at gunpoint and told to watch this film.  I had seen the title (several times, in fact), but I knew very little about the plot.  Turns out, Byzantium is a unique vampire swivet that follows two "sisters" as they gull men and attempt to scrape by without being smelled out as bloodsuckers.  The story is told in the present day, though it's often plaited with flashbacks.  Honestly, I don't want to say too much as it relates to the mechanics of the narrative.  I enjoyed watching it unfold myself, and I think it's one of those movies where it's best to arrive blindfolded, so to speak.  My, this is getting kinky.  If this capsule gets too ribald and rascally for you, you might want to consider getting laid.

Right, so Byzantium was directed by cult maverick Neil Jordan.  I like it when he dips his toes into horror waters.  Naturally, it's just as much a drama as it is a fright feature.  I'm tiptoeing around a certain word - "romance" I believe it is, but don't let that preclude you from Netflixing this histrionic production.  The acting is fantastic (Saoirse Ronan should be far more popular; the same applies to Gemma Arterton's boobs), the score is handsome and the ending gratifies.  I had questions here and there, but I refuse to spoil anything.  You better rent Byzantium.  I'm holding a gun to your head.


Geek Out #120

Has it really been twelve years since Freddy vs. Jason was released?  My God.  I actually get nostalgic about it.  Hey, it was a fun flick, and the promotional lead-up was just as fun.  Take this Vegas weigh-in, for example...


Microwave Massacre

So I'm beaming at 1983's Sledgehammer with intentions to review it, and Allah drowning in a gravy boat, I can't finish the goddamn thing.  I tried.  Twice!  It's too awful.  I know I don't necessarily have to enjoy a film to review it for this lovely site, but I do need to be able to view all of it without immolating the videocassette.  Since Sledgehammer was a no-go, I looked to the socketed meadows of YouTube for inspiration.  Of course, I found Microwave Massacre, a b-snack made in 1981 but released the same year as shot-on-video slog Sledgehammer.  This is the better watch by far, but it's not quite as advertised.  To be clear, it's not quite a horror movie.

There is dismemberment, cannibalism and a severed head with vague supernatural powers, but no, Microwave Massacre is not quite a horror movie.  It's a comedy!  Okay, by looking at the various DVD/VHS covers, I could tell that this reel didn't take itself too seriously, but I still expected, y'know, horror.  It's only "horrifying" in snippy fusillades, and even then, it's pretty much played for laughs.  On the bright broadside, the snorts are actually funny.  I didn't snort myself, but I did laugh.  Hey, maybe you'll snort.  There is no shame in snorting, unless you're snuffling lines of cocaine off of an aborted fetus.

MAN, that was dark.  Let's get back to talking about a guy who kills his wife and eats her.  In his defense, the murder was accidental, although he spurned her (sapid, full-flavored) guts.  Why did he abhor her so much?  Because she prepared fancy, haut monde meals for him day in, day out.  That's a sensible justification for parching hatred, right?  No.  No, it isn't.  That's one aspect of the plot that dashed my enjoyment of Microwave Massacre, another being the ease with which graceless halfwits bed beautiful women.  Our main characters are construction workers, and their stereotypical catcalls work.  They fucking fuck unbelievably hot chicks after putting in zero effort!

Speaking of the hot chicks, oh my goddamn.  Two words, laydeez and gym rats...Marla Simon.  If you've seen the film, she's the busty blonde at the beginning who nudges her bodacious blinkers through a knothole.  It's not just her mazabas (I don't know...it's on Urban Dictionary); all of her flesh is to my liking.  Wow, I sound like a serial killer.  Moving on!  This flick has a fun energy that marries one scene to the next.  It has a sweet flow that fathers a festive pace.  Why, it's so festive, that you're surprised when the script runs out of pages.

Ironically, that's the biggest problem.  The ending sucks eggs, eggs laid by a free-range hen with an unpredictable diet.  And yet, I recommend Microwave Massacre.  It's a gas with tits, shitty effects and Marla Simon.  Did you know that the albumen of a quail egg is eighteen percent Jell-O?