Children of the Corn V: Fields of Terror

Did you know that Children of the Corn V: Fields of Terror was based on a story written by - get this - Stephen King?  That's right.  Stephen fucking King.  The master of horror himself!  He probably hasn't seen this particular sequel, but that doesn't matter.  His fingerprints are...nowhere to be found.  I'll give it this much; it's sleek merchandise.  The visuals are mylar-smooth.  How the budget was stockpiled north of seven figures is anyone's best guess.  Was The Gathering actually successful?  It's neither here nor there.  The movie was made and I watched it.

The plot suggests that writer/director Ethan Wiley didn't give a fuck about anything.  Why are these children evil?  Because.  Technically, the superintendent brat, the agitator-in-chief (hmm, that wasn't as clever as I imagined), is "possessed" by a mystic, generic force in the middle of a cornfield.  Zero context.  By the way, said brat is played by Adam Wylie, no relation to Ethan.  That appellation won't ring a bell, but it's THIS kid.  Yeah.  Doesn't he look creepy and intimidating?  Son of a bitch, how did they settle on him?  Michael Cera has scared more moviegoers, and those were the squinting viewers who thought he was wearing a Michael Myers mask.

On the whole, the casting is fucking random.  We get a pair of Zappa kids (Diva and Ahmet), Alexis Arquette (pre-transition) and Eva Mendes in her first feature role.  The acting itself is wildly uneven.  To make matters tragic, Mendes stays incredibly clothed.  If we're talking characters, I didn't care for these fuckheads.  It's just a congregation of college students marooned in a small town looking for the long-lost brother of, um, Female Lead.  I'm positive that's her legal name.  No need to fact-check.  None of the components of the narrative are compelling or interesting in the slightest.  And the script is bald in terms of sustenance.  It doesn't field all of its players, and wow, I'm begging myself to come up with a vagina joke.  Sorry, me.

Two Z'Dars, which implies that I've spied worse.  I have!  Aside from the production values, there must be other saving graces.  There are!  But what are they?  Well, the running time clocks in at a merciful 83 minutes.  I didn't despise Female Lead.  She's bland, but again, I didn't despise her.  So those are two items in the "pro" column.  The gore is acceptable.  Christ, if this review were a person, it would be asleep.  My asshole itches.  Paragraph filler, paragraph filler.  I'm listening to a Christian doom/thrash band right now.  Seventh Angel.  Cool stuff all-around.  Can I stop typing?  Pleeeeeeease???

In Parenthesis

Here's a (small) site update.  I've been wanting to review a new-ish release or two, but I'm still shackled to a certain goddamn series.  I won't name it!  But I'm committed to finishing it.  I'm a man of my word.  Sometimes.  There is a chance that I'll temporarily break away to cover something fresh, but that's only if I can find it free or cheap.  Back in the day, I never thought I'd miss Blockbuster, but you know what?  I fucking miss Blockbuster!

Album Cover of the Whatever

It seems like I just posted one of these.  Ah, phook it!  I like this cover because it's just a blue sky.  It doesn't try to be clever or pretentious.  "Maybe the ocean represents the"--NO!  Shut the fuck up!  By the way, this is The Inalienable Dreamless, the third outing by Discordance Axis.  It's twitchy, scabrous grindcore, which makes the calming artwork all the more badass.  In my opinion, dude.

PS-Apropos of nothing, I've been giving grindcore a bit of my ears lately.  I've never really enjoyed it.  Apart from a couple of bands here and there, I'm finding that I still don't.  I'm cool with Axis, though.

A Band: Soliloquium

Soliloquium is a melodic death/doom metal band.  I remember digging their sophomore long player, 2018's moody Contemplations.  At first, they did come off as yet another tiny "bandcamp" project, but they sound more professional than, say, Finger the Cowboy or Skullcap Vertex.  I made those bands up, but still!  Is it too early to start a new paragraph?  Nah.

Things We Leave Behind is the latest Soliloquium jammer.  As a matter of public record, it was released in mid-March.  I'm undecided on which album I prefer.  Lead single "The Discarded" is a motherfucker of a tune, and the brutal drums on "Existential Misshape" twisted my xiphoid process into a xiphoid situation.  Trust me; that quip was both unnecessary and hysterical.  Two, maybe three people are buckled over with laughter right now.  Okay, no one is laughing.  May we continue?

A couple of the tracks on Things lose me.  Oddly enough, they feel too...simple?  It's hard to pinpoint.  Still, Soliloquium is an obscure band worth checking out, and hey, that's the purpose of this column.  As promised, here is some Kool-Aid!

Blood Capsule #91

CHILDREN OF THE CORN IV: THE GATHERING

The best one!  The most refined sequel of the series!  "Really, Dom?"  No!  Not really!  I can't believe how many reviews I've brushed over that hail The Gathering as the summit of this pelted franchise.  Honestly, I prefer Urban Sacrifice.  Profoundly feeble-minded, yes, but at least it had energy.  It had pluck.  It moved with purpose, deluded though it was.  This flick is a downer, man.  It's so listless and lymphatic, I would believe you if you said that it's listed as a symptom of Coronavirus.*  Naomi Watts is a stupendous actress and I understand that her character bears the brunt of abject stress.  But jeezy-creezy; am I the only one, or does Naomi look like she is fucking over it at several points during the film?  There is zero joy in her performance.

There is zero joy on-screen, people.  You can tell that the entire cast wanted to be elsewhere.  Too harsh?  Possibly, but if you haven't endured Children of the Corn IV: The Gathering, I don't want to hear it.  If you have seen this blatherskite, feel free to disagree.  I can admit that the production values are adequate.  A creepy shot here and there.  Hey, I'm not capable of hating any feature starring Naomi Watts, even if it hates itself.  Next up?  I'm committed, so it's going to be Fields of Terror.  I must truly despise the face I see in the mirror.

*I am allowing myself another COVID joke.  It was either that or an abdominal aortic aneurysm.  Or dick cancer.

Rassle Inn #1

This is a wrestling column, so of course...OF COURSE I open with an image of a beautiful woman.  It's not random.  She's a professional wrestler.  It's shameful, and I'm ashamed.  But it's not random!  She's Penelope Ford, a quality "worker," in my opinion, for All Elite Wrestling.  If you're new here, I will be focusing on AEW, though irony is leaning its catawampus head over my shoulder.  I'm well aware that Wrestlemania is a mere two nights away.  Frankly, it should have been cancelled or postponed.

I get it.  I really do.  We want our entertainment, but at press time, we need our patience.  Countless calls to hold off on the event?  Vince says, "Oh, no.  We're running it twice!"  This is such a stupidly McMahon response to a solemn situation.  Will I watch?  I still own a Network account and I'm naturally curious, so yes.  I might as well.  It's going to happen whether I watch or not.  Isn't that a symptom of whatever virus Vince is hosting?  Mounting his "sports entertainment" circus regardless of extenuating circumstances?  The show must go on?  Etcetera?

His recipe, as banal as it has become, does not change.  It is impervious to ridicule.  I hate to say it, but I wonder if AEW should really be taping episodes of Dark and Dynamite right now.  This country still hasn't shut everything down.  That's going to prolong this period of communal syncope, but I don't want to tread near socio-political waters.  Eek!  That's not what I do best.  I'm much more comfortable saying that the 19-minute brouhaha between Trent and Kenny Omega was a "Match of the Year" candidate.  Loved the brutal action on the outside.  And Hikaru Shida's exchange with Britt Baker was simply awesome.

In all likelihood, I'll post comments about Wrestlemania next week.  We'll see what happens?  Excitement?  Yay?

Album Cover of the Whatever

The band?  Asunojokei.  The LP?  Awakening.  The genre?  Atmospheric black metal.  The country of origin?  Japan.  The red stuff?  Blood, maybe fire.  Ooh, feathers!  I'm thinking feathers.  Either way, it's a striking image.  Asunojokei just featured on a split with fellow atmoblackers Unreqvited.  It comes out Friday, but do start with this record.

Children of the Corn III: Urban Harvest

NOTE: I did use an African poster (Ghana, if I'm not mistaken), but that's only because...well, look at it.  It's just as zany as the film itself.  Yes, zany.  If I didn't know any better, I'd believe that modifier was created for this thing.  1995's Children of the Corn III: Urban Harvest was directed by James Hickox, brother of Anthony and son of Douglas.  It was a filmmaking family.  I'll let you decide who inherited the most talent.  Now that I've ruminated for longer than two seconds, it was probably sister Emma, an editor.  Crimeny, I'm shitting all over the poor guy and I enjoyed this vacuous kernel!  Watch your step, for there may be other corn puns potted in the soil.

The franchise moves to the big city when adopted brothers Eli and Joshua...sorry, that sounded way too much like the back of a video box.  I miss video boxes.  Anyway, Eli is the younger kin.  He's the evil one.  It takes his family a sweet while to suspect that something unnatural is astir.  What tipped you off, Joshua?  Was it the cornfield that your little bro-bro planted next to an abandoned fucking warehouse?  Seemed shady, did it?  Alright, I'll call it quits with the rhetorical questions.  This whole flick is bonkers.  The school that our children (y'know, of the corn) attend educates multiple grades, but we only ever see older teenagers.  Even if Eli's stature is on the diminutive side, his classmates come off as a wee bit mature.

Whatever.  The acting is substandard.  Heh, I guess I should explain why I prize Urban Harvest.  This is b-movie verdure, pulpy entertainment of the finest caliber.  The pacing is a breeze, the gore is squishy and every ten minutes or so, we get what I call a "spook sting."  Not quite a jump scare.  You've seen them hundreds of times.  It's when a genre nugget (and they are usually dumb nuggets) feels like it has to remind you that you're watching a horror film.  Because remember, the studio deems you doltish, and your intelligence will be insulted.  In the case of Urban Harvest, I don't mind.  It simply adds to the carnival vibe.

I can't express how easy it was to view this scroungy sequel.  I'm making it sound base and tawdry, but in all honesty, it was produced reasonably well.  Hickox is no slouch behind the camera.  Urban Harvest had the slender, yet comfortable budget that any other direct-to-video Dimension property was afforded.  It's all very felicific.  In particular, I loved the scene where Joshua's buddy is attacked by roots and stalks in a nasty, spine-stretching way.  A few of the death sequences reminded me of 1995's Night of the Scarecrow, but I'm not crying ripoff.  After all, Children of the Corn III: Urban Harvest was shot in 1993.  Why it fermented on the shelf for two years, I have no idea.

Fun motion picture.  I don't know if it's on your favorite streaming service, you entitled millennial, but hey!  HEY!  Give it a whirl.

Rassle Inn

This could/should be a new column, but I need to cool it with creating new columns.  Basically, these are my scattered thoughts on the most recent happenings within the world of AEW (All Elite Wrestling).  Do any of you remember my old, ollllllllld Parts Unknown column?  I do not wish to put spade to earth and quarry the scraps of editorials past, but I remain a wrestling humanoid (read: nerd).  For nearly two decades, there existed a void where a promotion once stood.  Once WCW was cleared out, Vince McMahon was given free rein with domestic viewers.  It was clear, however, that he could not hold onto those eyeballs.

I feel like I'm starting too wide.  I'm being too general.  For fuck's sake, all you need to know (and you may already know) is that fans were dying for something fresh to watch.  WWE programming is stale.  Formulaic.  I was going to employ blue humor, but I'll spare you.  I will neatly flank the edges of a "dry vagina" joke.  You'll never know what I almost typed!  At any twat (pull yourself together, Dom), AEW's Dynamite has a distinct flavor.  Of course, it's their flagship show, although its Wednesday night time slot pits it against NXT, WWE's third-tier brand.

Speaking of NXT, I dig it!  Quite a bit, actually.  Because I do have the WWE Network, I can watch both programs.  Overall, I prefer AEW.  This is in spite of the fact that NXT possesses the best female worker on the planet (she's in contention for "best worker," regardless of gender) - Io Shirai.  Where am I going with all of this drifting burble?  I.  Don't.  Know.

I do know that next week, I'll be far more specific with my pro-wrestling prattle.  They have probably looked into this, but does anyone know if Shirai needs a green card?

Blood Capsule #90

REIGO: KING OF THE SEA MONSTERS (2005)

You know me.  You know that I'm a kaiju nut.  So please, PLEASE take these partially positive comments with a grain of salt.  Reigo is not a good movie.  In factoid, it's barely passable as a b-movie.  The "plot" is threadbare, the special effects...fuck, I need to pause there.  If you squint at other reviews, you'll notice cracks about Playstation cutscenes.  Yeah, that's because the CGI in this ocean-set monster mash is baaaaaaaaad.  It isn't limited to the creature(s) either; no, that would be humanitarian.  The ships and explosions are also digital.  You are probably waiting for those partially positive comments, but I really needed to belabor the stodgy, downright disreputable production values.  Fuck.

See, this is how I know I'm a puerile, gorked manchild.  I had (a modest amount of) fun with Reigo.  Everything is rotten with the exception of the characters, and while it's true that the characters are very nearly rotten, they are agreeable enough to keep this miscreation afloat.  I did want to see how it concluded.  Speaking of which, I can't decide if the last 10 minutes are unspeakably awesome or vomit-inducing.  How the hell do I even describe them?  The picture shifts into kabuki mode after we learn that all of the main players die.  Oh, spoiler alert.

Etalmay

So I've been trying to think of a new metal column.  You have any ideas?  What I might do is emerge every so often with a band.  A somewhat obscure band.  Write about them, describe their sound, link to their page(s)...what should I call it?  Basically, you're doing all of the work here.  I am your crippled conduit.  Expect the first edition of this as-yet-untitled column no later than December of 2036.  The next item up for bid will be a Blood Capsule.

By the way, I'm listening to Kuarahy, the debut disc from White Stones.  Mid-tempo death metal (I've been digging an abundance of mid-tempo death metal lately) brewed, in part, by Martin Mendez of Opeth.  Solid stuff!

Album Cover of the Whatever

Vampire: Hey, did you see that Dom is doing Random Reviews again?

Werewolf: Yeah, that's cool, I guess.  But like, what's his deal?  He'll probably just go on another hiatus.

V: Hey, give the crip a break.  Him and I have a mutual buddy.  I think he's just doing it to do it.  Stress-free, y'know?

W: No, I get it.  I do like reading about weird horror movies and extreme metal.

V: You'll be glad to know that he's upping the metal quotient an iota or two.

W: I know you said you have a mutual buddy, but how do you know so much abo--wait, Dom?  Is that you?

V: Shut your fucking hole or I'll kill you!

W: Wait, what the fuck?

*The vampire fucking kills the werewolf."

V: Christ, I just killed a werewolf.  Well, now that you're dead, I'll tell you about this incredible album cover.  It's Vaisseau's Horrors Waiting in Line.  Instrumental synth-metal.  Normally, I wouldn't be into it, but I'm cool with these tunes.  Super catchy.  Reminds me of Acid Witch.  And the cover...what can I add?  It's nuts.  Hey, are you still dead?

Color Out of Space

I have yet to read the source material (don't worry; I plan on rectifying that), but from what I gather, H.P. Lovecraft described the literal color that fell from outer space as "indescribable."  Like no color on Earth.  So y'know, pink.  With a tincture of purple.  I didn't realize that occult, cosmic horror could be demystified so easily, but I'll give director Richard Stanley a pass.  We had to see it, I suppose.  And I'm glad that Stanley was the auteur to bring this short story to the big screen.  It's unfortunate that it tanked harder than the RMS Lusitania.  Hmm, that's curious.  I thought my first trendy pop culture reference would be a COVID-19 gag.  But I digress...

As I was saying, the Lusitania was torpedoed by a German U-boat, which wasn't helped by its awkward starboard tilt.  Historians have observed that all 1,198 casualties deserved to die.  How fortuitous!  I once witnessed a lunker of a barge being routed by a segue.  Came out of nowhere, man.  A meteor crashes onto the property of one Nathan Gardner, a retired everyman played by not-an-everyman Nicolas Cage.  If you know the general narrative, then you know that this uninvited quark causes strange things to happen.  Nathan's wife calmly slices off her fingers, alpacas are turned inside out in a nightmarish scene straight out of John Carpenter's The Thing, and of course, the outdoors turn pi--er, a bizarre color.

I want to start by discussing Cage, as he was the second biggest draw for me (next to the title; I was going to rent this fucker regardless).  At first, I came away feeling like he went through his whackadoo motions.  I could see him rationalizing his performance.  "Let's be honest, kids.  Going full-blown Cage is the crutch I will use to get sassy and my fans will eat it up.  Slurp my mayonnaise, buttercunt."  NOTE: That's simply how I imagine he talks to himself.  Please don't ruin that fantasy for me.  Contrarily, I decided that this was the perfect project for Nicolas Cage to be himself, for lack of a better phrase.  If he's going to flip out and riffle through splashy, chromatic profanity, it should be in Richard Stanley's adaptation of an uneasy Lovecraft yarn.  Ya dig?

I dig.  In fact, I liked the entire cast.  At the risk of resembling an immature twerp, how cute is Madeleine Arthur?  She portrays Lavinia, Nathan's holistic Wiccan daughter.  The script fleshes her out the most, even more than Castor Troy.  High-five me if you're also a Face/Off adherent.  Joely Richardson is nuanced as Theresa, the "accident-prone" wifey-poo.  Tommy Chong rounds out the company as Ezra, and I don't need to tell you that he kicks ass.  I really appreciate how his role is handled, but I can't say too much about it.  Spoiler landmines and all.

Speaking of spoilage, the mystery of the plot is dealt with dexterously.  Details are fed to the viewer at the right intervals.  Having said that, Color Out of Space retains all of its mystique.  That couldn't have been easy to accomplish.  Complaints?  Sure, I have a few.  The CGI...was that mess necessary?  This breed of genre reel uses subtlety to its advantage, and I can practically hear other critics opining that Lovecraft specialized in monstrosities that we couldn't physically see.  So did we need to see purple blobs of what-the-fuck?  I will admit, there are nice moments of practical make-up, one involving...eh, I shouldn't say.  Goddamn spoilers!

My only other quibble is that the family dialogue presents as stilted.  Is it just me?  I doubt it.  I'm right 100% of the time.  That's a fairly high percentage.  At any rate, I do recommend Color Out of Time.  Reading back, this has the makings of a 4-Z'Dar review, but in my arthrogrypotic heart, it just misses the mark.  Ideally, I'd go with a 3.8.  I don't do that shit, though.  Take it away, Cordell!

Godzilla, Satan, etc...

Because of Godzilla, I decided to breathe life back into RR Inc. for the zillionth time.  Not because of Godzilla, I haven't had much time to create content for this here blog.  I've been doing some (video) editing work, while simultaneously trying to curb my depression and enjoy life.  Ideally, I'd have just enough time and energy to comply with all three albatrosses.  You don't see "enjoying life" as a carking albatross, a zinc ballast (I don't know) tied to your ankles, like so many sandbags?  I do!

Speaking of Zillagod, my mommy bought the recent issue of Life that is dedicated to Big G for me.  I've just started to pore over it, but it's one hell of a compendium.  Granted, it's geared toward the genre novice, but it does contain tidbits that even I didn't know.  I advise picking it up.  Also, check out 1989's Satan's Storybook, a shot-on-video anthology that made me crack a smile or two.  It would have been the subject of my next review, but...well, y'know.  I am NOT giving up the site!  This was merely a life update.  I'll be back in a number of days.  High number?  Low number?  Um, right!

Geek Out #137

I had the Bull Alien.  Which one did you have, Timmy or Billy?

Godzilla: King of the Monsters

I liked 2014's Godzilla.  Is that okay?  I just want to make sure before I continue.  I reviewed it (poorly) upon its release, and I know that I didn't give it a perfect rating.  Because I concede that it wasn't perfect!  It wasn't quite the G-flick that fans wanted.  This year's Godzilla: King of the Monsters is the G-flick that fans - fuck it, I'll use the proper pronoun - we wanted.  It's the big-budget creature feature that we deserved.  I've seen others say that, and I'll admit that it sounds immodest, maybe even audacious.  But goddamn!  American kaiju carnivores have been waiting for DECADES to see this kind of monster mobocracy.  That was a pathetic display of alliteration.  I'm rusty, I suppose.

Sure, I can hang out with 1998's Godzilla on a goofy level, but there were no other "titans."  I've already said that I dug the G-bash from five years ago, but aside from the title star, there were no recognizable properties.  This son of a bitch threw three non-G Toho creations at us, and sweet fuck, they were divine.  Mothra?  Gorgeous.  A snack!  Rodan?  Badass.  He has never looked this intimidating.  King Ghidorah?  Jeeeeeeepers cunt.  It feels juvenile to use the word "terrifying" to describe anything in a Godzilla movie.  Friends, Monster Zero (and yes, it's referred to by this handle on more than one occasion) is terrifying.  The realistic special effects make it easy to imagine if Ghidorah were a corporeal being and it's a scary prospect.

Needless to say, Godzilla Vontavious Porter (don't tell him that I used his Christian name) looks fantastic.  The combination of CGI and motion-capture has been a wondrous thing for "giant beastie" reels, or at least the ones that haven't been hurried to video shelves.  The humans?  I was pleasantly surprised to find that the characters are considerably more fleshed out than they were in the original.  Now, that's not saying a hell of a whole lot.  I wasn't fucking moved to tears, but Millie Bobby Brown's Madison is agreeable.  She's just Eleven with longer hair, but still.  Kyle Chandler's performance as Mark is grounded.  If you don't blink, you'll catch a character arc (I know; I was astounded).  Mark's transmutation from Starchy Asshole to Temperate Padre feels natural.

I was bound to encounter flaws, but the only glitch that bothered me was the forced, bizarre employment  of humor.  We're stuck with a token "comedy relief" fellow, and I'm not talking about Thomas Middleditch.  His one-liners were tolerable.  That other guy.  Did he have a name?  He was given the most awkward dialogue, and none of it worked.  Thankfully, that's the sole wart I recall seeing after experiencing the eruptive, diverting fun of Godzilla: King of the Monsters.  The pace is snappy, the battle sequences are meteoric and the visuals...egads, give a damn hand to director Michael Dougherty.  Everything is beautiful.  The man has three grand slams under his belt, the preceding two being Krampus and Trick 'r Treat.  Keep at it, boy!

I don't feel like I've said enough, but I have a habit of driving points home with as few words as possible.  In all honesty, this film warrants a hundred paragraphs of praise.  Maybe write some of your own.  I can't do all the work!

Album Cover of the Whatever

It's back!  And thank Satan for that; I need a low-effort column.  Maybe you think I could have picked a better Mercyful Fate album cover.  That's subjective.  Maybe you think I could have picked a better Mercyful Fate album.  That's objective.  This isn't a long player proper, playa!  It's simply a compilation of b-sides and rare material.  While I detest the title font (I see they went with the "cheap paste" option), the artwork is a generic party.  As in Party City.  It's as dumb as a box of dumb, but it's fun!  It's cheese, it's Halloween, it's Subspecies II: Bloodstone, it's...you get the point.

A Cure for Wellness

After watching it back recently, I'd have to say that 1998's Gargantua isn't that bad.  It's very obvious, yes, and the CGI doesn't hold up, but it's agreeable enough to watch.  I don't know why you asked, though.  I thought I made it clear that this is a review of 2016's A Cure for Wellness, a picture that I pined for when it bedecked theaters.  This would have been a great flick to catch in theaters.  Alas, I wasn't able to make it out to the hippodrome.  Over six months since my last review, I can still use ridiculous words with the best of 'em.  Don't you refer to your local movie shack as a hippodrome?  You shouldn't.

Previews painted Wellness as a wholly unique experience.  And it is unique, but now that I've imbibed the film, it's a teensy bit more conventional than I was expecting.  In a disappointing way.  I'll get to the good stuff later (my opinion is broadly roseate), but everything felt vaguely Hollywood-by-numbers.  It's as though a studio executive was standing on the set, just off to the side, intercalating directives such as "Make the ending big!" and "She's the love interest!"  By the way, I don't know that Mia Goth was the nonpareil choice to play Hannah.  This is where I need to parlay plot details, isn't it?  Damn.

Dane DeHaan is Lockhart, a young upstart who is sent to Switzerland to bring his company's CEO back to America.  Apparently, Pembroke (the CEO) has stolen away to a sequestered rehabilitation clinic nestled in the Swiss Alps.  To get "well."  Ooooh, quotation marks!  That means something mysterious is happening!  Mysteriously!  Without diving into particulars, the sanitarium utilizes eels and gallons upon gallons of water.  It's totally legit.  Seriously, how does this place exist?  Aren't there codes and ordinances that would protect against the construction of a horror house such as this?  The town is cool with it?

The plot holes are noticeable, but let's put those aside for a minute.  Back to Hannah.  We are never told her exact age, but I swear to Jehovah's astragalus (it's one of the proximal bones of the tarsus, you monkey), the girl is barely pubescent.  Fourteen at the oldest.  The actress is older, but that doesn't matter.  She looks fourteen and yet, Wellness tries to pass her off as desirable.  The marked age difference between Hannah and Lockhart doesn't seem to rankle the film.  Ew.  The villain attempts to rape her and we see her breasts AND EW.  "Ew" is probably the point, and I get that.  It's just a very uncomfortable sit.

I liked this film?  Yeah, I guess so.  Gore Verbinski is a master of the visual arts.  Several images reminded me of his redux of The Ring, mainly the underwater shots of suspended bodies and furtive, double-dealing eels (I don't trust those creepy motherfuckers).  The cast is fine (nice segue, Dom).  Jason Isaacs should be the next James Bond.  Don't get me wrong; he's excellent here as a twisted doctor, but his gentility is quite winning.  Man, apart from this paragraph, this review isn't nearly as positive as I imagined it would be in my head.

Technically speaking, A Cure for Wellness is high-grade material.  I wanted to see how it ended, which is important.  Did the ending make sense?  Nope!  This is a lengthy feature, but it still feels as though scenes were truncated.  Robert Z'Dar says, "Give Gargantua another chance."

What the...? A video Blood Capsule?

I'm working on finishing up a (written!) movie review, but until the warm, flaky bun is out of the oven, please enjoy the first of a few seasonal videos highlighting a few seasonal movies.  Is there a dweller in your cellar?

Cripples ov Siberia

Hi!  Boy, my life has FUCKING SUCKED as of late, but I think I can find pockets of time to spend on this rinky-dink website.  It's October, after all.

I recently bought a few compact discs (a "CD" is an optical data storage format), and I realized something.  I'm done!  Sorry, bands.  I am finally done purchasing ringlets of music when half of the time - I'm not even kidding - the discs skip.  Brand new goddamn discs!  I have Alexa in my room, so with our Amazon Music Unlimited subscription, I can jam to almost any record.  No, this isn't a sponsored post.  I wish.

Between the bitch (Alexa), YouTube and Spotify, I'm alright in the metal department.  Look, I held out as long as I could.  Friends renounced ceedeez years ago, so I've been the old man out.  Not anymore!  I was moved to write on the topic after "spinning" I Loved You at Your Darkest, the latest Behemoth opus.  Man, it's a motherfucker.  I didn't go head over hooves for The Satanist, but this sick puppy does the trick.  It marks a seamless progression (and in some cases, amelioration) for the band, striking (dis)harmony between gruff death metal and forward-reaching black metal.

See you when I see you.

The High Ate Us

I've been thinking a lot about...life. lolz  Life, maaaaaan.  Time and how it's perceived.  That doesn't make a lick of sense, but basically, I need to work on other stuff.  Non-website stuff.  You know where this is going.  I hesitate to use the word "'hiatus" because that implies that I'll be back at some point.  And I might!  I don't want to scare anyone, but I'm fucking 33 years old.  That's human years!  I need to switch shit up.  If I do decide to come back for the fifth time, I'll let people know.  I'll let you know, bro!

Album Cover of the Whatever

What happens when you can't find the comic book you wanted to review?  Album cover of the whatever, baby!  Count yourself lucky.  I'll keep looking.  That comic is guaranteed to be a slam dunk.  But hey, this is a pretty good album.  The band is Unreqvited (sic) and the album is Stars Wept to the Sea.  It's (mostly) relaxing post-metal with an omnipresent blackness.  I don't know exactly what is happening on the cover, but if the title is prognostic, those are stars weeping...y'know, to the sea.  All I know is that I adore the base color.  I'm positive that "base color" is a hair styling term, but fuck it.  I'm too metal to care!

Species

Rewatching this 90's favorite, I nearly choked on my dry roasted edamame (they were just peanuts) when I realized that Young Sil was played by Michelle Williams.  She was so cute!  So I have personal history with Species.  Seven years ago (!), I reviewed the film's comic book tie-in.  You can read that HERE, but be forewarned, I basically review the movie in the first paragraph.  Er, read this first.  Yeah.  Keep in mind, I read the four-issue comic series before seeing the motion picture.  I was deep in the throes of puberty upon my initial viewing of Species, so it was a flustering experience.  Stupid cock contractions.  I do remember liking the finished product.

Let's get this out of the way.  Natasha Henstridge was a firm 20 years old when she shot this thing.  It was her first acting gig!  Fresh out of the wrapper and all that.  She is a sweltering smokeshow, and due to the convenient skullduggery of the storyline, she spends a disproportionate (or proportionate, depending on how you look at it) amount of screen time either topless or naked.  That is not a complaint.  The feminist chunk of my brain is all, "Bitch, please."  The other chunks find Species to be a rather watchable update of Lifeforce.  Oh, and I enjoy boobs.  Sil could be seen as a feminist villain who goes after what she wants without any regard for men.  Of course, she also rips out the spine of a club chick.  That tends to disrupt the metaphor.

Positives!  Director Roger Donaldson brings a steady hand to the proceedings.  The plum, comfortable budget ensures that everything looks gorgeous.  Man, those opening credits are a sci-fi fanatic's nocturnal emission.  It's clear that MGM wanted this to be a success on the level of Alien.  They even deputized the talents of the late, great H.R. Giger to design their creature.  I dig Sil, but they pissed on her with dated CGI.  Even in 1995, it didn't look convincing.  The non-digital effects rawk, and there are gallons of gore to go around.  Speaking of Night of the Seagulls, it's my top entry in the Blind Dead saga.  Speaking of Chucky Voorhees, that ain't no river!

Sometimes, my marbles trip over themselves.  People get hurt.  The acting is passable, although I doubt that anyone knew why they were in this popcorn collage.  Forest Whitaker tries like hell to carry depth as Dan, an empath who knows which way Sil went.  I really don't think that screenwriter Dennis Feldman knows or understands the capabilities of an empath.  As a matter of fact, I sniffed out boxcars of plot holes.  They didn't bother me much as a teenager, and they still don't.  Species isn't the type of scare flick that is decided by nuance.  It's a fun, fast-paced grotesquery that feels like an R-rated episode of The X-Files.  Robert Z'Dar says, "Titties!"

Go Raptors!

I don't know how many times I've mentioned it (perhaps zero), but I'm an NBA fan.  The playoffs start tomorrow, and unlike most years, the winners won't be obvious.  An upset in the first round is practically guaranteed.  But who will be upset?  And in which conference?  As it relates to basketball, I follow three teams.  My local pick (Charlotte Hornets), my biased pick (Toronto Raptors...I've just always liked them) and my bandwagon pick (Golden State Warriors).  C'mon, we all have a popular team that we don't regard with contempt.  Plus, Steph Curry is a die-hard fan of my Carolina Panthers.

In the first round, the Raptors contend with a nervy, tenacious Wizards squad.  John Wall and Bradley Beal are nothing to scoff at, and in point, these two teams split their season series.  Did I mention that Toronto is the #1 seed in the East and that Washington is the #8 seed?  If you follow pro hoops, you already know this stuff.  I bring it up to underscore the fact that this kind of upset (#8 trouncing #1) has happened quite a few times.  I admit, I'm jittery.  Toronto's legacy reeks of inconsistency, but this is the best crew of carnivorous bipedal dinosaurs ever assembled.  Literally!  Their regular season tally of 59 wins is a franchise record, and head coach Duane Casey (my vote for Coach of the Year), thoroughly reshuffled the offensive M.O. to mirror that of the defending champions - the Golden State Warriors!

And I'm only talking about one series.  Out of eight.  They will all be worth watching, sweetie pie.  Don't worry; I'll get back to reviewing horror films next week.  Had to get this out of my system.  Go Checkers!

Wrestlemania 34 Part II

Let's finish this bitch!

7) D-Bry and Shane/Owens and Zayn ~ We saw a controlled burst of Daniel Bryan's offense on Smackdown, but this was his first match in three years.  Let me tell you, he went full-bore and it was obvious that he was having a fucking blast.  I had a blast, too!  It felt like watching a happy puppy playing in the snow.  Slushy simile, but c'mon.  This was feelgood wrestling.

8) Nia/Alexa For The Raw Women's Championship ~ Storytelling was paramount here.  Honestly, I can't recall many moves or sequences from the contest (trying not to use "match" a billion times), but that wasn't the point.  I did like the terse levity early on when both participants screamed simultaneously.  Alexa's slasher-worthy shriek elicited audible laughter from those in attendance.

9) Styles/Nakamura For The WWE Championship ~ Oh, baby.  This was the fight that I was looking forward to the most.  It was...alright.  Before I grill the meat, how about Nita Strauss jamming on Nakamura's entrance theme?  She rocked it!  Yes, I'm a fan.  So the match brought intense action and a sick heel turn, but for whatever reason, I wasn't feelin' it.  Things never went to that next level.  I'm not explaining myself very well.  One obstacle was the limitation on time (otherwise known as a "time limit").  Not the wrestlers' fault, but dude, it's fucking Wrestlemania.  Why not let them go for a half-hour?  Vince doesn't seem to understand the significance of a match's length.  I'm a stickler for that shit.  On the upside, we'll get more matches out of these two gentlemen.  Bring it, I say!

10) Braun and Nicholas/The Bar ~ I can see the reasoning behind plunking a lighter scuffle in between your main events, but I'm not sure how I feel about brushing The Bar to the side and devalorizing the Raw tag titles.  I'm conflicted.  Hemming and hawing.  Wishy AND washy.  Hey, I'll ease off.  Nicholas is a cute kid, and that's a memory that will never fade from his mental laundry.

11) Lesnar/Reigns For The WWE Universal Championship ~ Yeah, I didn't give a flapping fuck.  The crowd tuned out almost immediately.  No amount of blood (and it was actually too much) was going to change my mind.  Overall, this was a gratifying PPV, so it's a shame that it had to end with a galumph.

I didn't cover the pre-show, but it was adequate.  The women's battle royal was terrible, the cruiserweights were typical (I dug the gymnastics and Mustafa Ali's Max Moon-esque gear) and I missed the Andre the Giant battle royal, though I'm pleased with the results.  Billy goats urinate on their own heads to smell more attractive to females.  Bye!

Wrestlemania 34 Part I

First of all, NXT Takeover: New Orleans was flippin' awesome.  The entire card.  I wanted to get that out of the way before attempting to break down Wrestlemania (yes, I waited until I digested Raw).  Now, where is my silverware?

1) Rollins/Miz/Balor For The Intercontinental Championship ~ A logical choice to open the main show, as it bristled with pluck and vivacity.  In other words, it was energetic.  I have a feeling that were it not for the arrival of Monroe Sky Mizanin, The Miz would have retained and broken Pedro Morales's record for most combined days as IC champ.

2) Charlotte/Asuka For The Smackdown Women's Championship ~ I have given it thought, and I believe that this was the best match of the night.  Should it have been longer?  Yeah.  However, all that these two ladies could do was maximize the minutes in front of them.  They did.  Everything was clean and I can't remember any wasted motion.  Asuka is a polished veteran, while Charlotte's progress from where she was just five years ago is nothing short of remarkable.  Hopefully, this wasn't the last tussle between The Queen and The Empress.  They have SERIOUS chemistry.

3) Jinder/Randy/Bobby/Rusev For The United States Championship ~ There are a few matches here that I had zero investment in tailgating on the road to Wrasslemania.  I'm afraid that this is one of them.  Also, I'm not convinced that the winner wasn't chosen with a dart.  Orton?  I haven't cared about him since 2010.  Roode is fine, but he should never have lost the title.  Rusev has "Rusev Day."  Big deal.  I give this bland bout a Meltzer rating of piss out of shit.

4) Angle and Rousey/Triple H and Stephanie ~ This was way more fun than I was expecting.  That's, in part, due to all of the parties playing their roles to a T.  Say what you will about Trips and Steph, but they know how to be heels.  Plus, it's obvious that Ronda is committed to the craft.  I can't wait to see who she faces at next year's Mania.  How scorching hot did she look in that skirt?

5) The Bludgeon Brothers/The Usos/The New Day For The Smackdown Tag Team Championships ~ God, that's a lot of words.  Invariably, one (or two) of the title matches was going to be pared down, but I'm fine with it.  This fracas didn't need to stretch beyond five minutes.  The Bludgeon Brothers should have been booked this way in their days as Wyatt bondservants.  Better late than never?

6) The Undertaker/John Cena ~ I was against the "build-up" of this match from the jump.  Yeah, I know they'll eventually have to sell a major PPV without either icon, but I don't care.  John Cena cutting promos all by his lonesome for four straight weeks makes for shitty television, even if they were solid promos.  And yet, the match itself put a dense, doltish smile on my face.  It was essentially a classic Superstars showcase from 1992 where 'Taker squashed Cena.  How can I be peeved at that?  I sincerely hope that it was The Phenom's coda.  As a (huge) fan, I want closure.

Hmm, closure.  I'm going to hold off on giving you closure.  It struck me that Smackdown is tonight and the next match on the WM card involves a certain Goat Man.  I'll finish this tomorrow, yo.

Sex with Satan?

It occurred to me that it's been a tiny while since I've posted something, so...um, here's an episode of Tales From the Crypt starring Morton Downey Jr.  An early instance of "found footage" terror, only it's actually creepy in patches.  Boo!

Blood Capsule #88

DEMONWARP (1988)

There are too many Bigfoot flicks out there.  Way, way too many.  Demonwarp gives prominence to a Bigfoot-esque creature, but this isn't your stock, customary Bigfoot flick.  It's...different.  If you plan on seeing Demonwarp in the near future, skip this capsule.  I really need to spoil the shit out of it to make a case for it.  Okay?  Okay.  A spaceship crashes in the forest.  The lead alien (a demon with a scorpion tail) tyrannizes his underlings (rotting zombies) until they mend the identified flying object.  What if a person waltzes into the hollow where the ship resides?  Well, the lead alien injects a fluid into the victim (via scorpion tail) that turns the bastard into a sasquatch.

Let's recap.  Aliens, zombies, a cool cryptid...and those are just the topliners.  We also get boobs and a laughable cult sacrifice on a set built with cardstock.  It's fantastic!  I'm thumbing my nose at the production quality, but the practical effects are impressive.  All of the monsters look swell.  Isn't that what's most important?  Look, I'm not going to bore you by mentioning dinky snags (the superfluous daylight is a buzzkill) or detailing performance minutiae (George Kennedy is very George Kennedy).  Demonwarp is a badass b-movie.  Period.  The second act slumps a speck, but who cares?  What's your man got to do with me?  I'm not tryin' to hear that, see?