I'm not 100% healed up (I'd say I'm at 88%), but I'm well enough to resume my duties as a bullshit blogger. Didn't feel like writing a bona fide review, so I'll just...y'know, blog. I've consumed quite a bit of pop culture in the last eighteen days. As of right now, I wanted to discuss Sweet Sixteen, a disregarded slasher hatched in 1983. I don't know why, but I was expecting to be fatigued by this flick. Maybe it's because I haven't heard much cheering from the gore groupies I know with regards to Sweet Sixteen ever since it landed on DVD. Chances are, you haven't scoped it either. You're missing out, big fella!
My apologies if you happen to be a female. What I'm trying to intimate is that this stabradoodle (you have my permission to use "stabradoodle" in casual conversation) is totally worth subletting. I wish that sentence made more sense. Fuck it! The death sequences are banal, but everything else is put together with surprising discernment. The acting is natural, the pace is even and the identity of the killer caught this dullard off guard. Look, we all know I'm a slack-jawed plonker. You don't have to rub it in, despite some no-name on IMDb claiming that the twist was predictable.
Oh, the screen grab? That's a man approaching an alien ship in 1968's Goke, Body Snatcher From Hell. It's a little stylish and a lot wonky. Would you believe that it's a Criterion release? The film was included in a box set called When Horror Came to Shochiku right alongside such benders as The X From Outer Space, The Living Skeleton and Genocide. It's not bad, but if I'm being honest, I drifted off to sleep toward the end. I can recommend what I saw, though. Does the phrase "forehead vagina" mean anything to you? No, Goke wasn't directed by David Cronenberg.
I just might check in tomorrow or the next day to give my impressions of the Royal Rumble. And Raw. And Smackdown.
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