Happy Birthday To Me

I know, I know...you're embarrassed because you didn't get me anything for my birthday.  It's totally cool.  You can always support the site through Patreon.  Or flowers.  You can always get me flowers.  I'm taking the weekend off (from something, I'm sure).

Considered Live

Death Metal Parking Lot

It's a good thing I don't have a traditional 9-to-5 job to attend every morning because I slept in like a champion.  Obviously, I had a late night.  Went to a rad show with my cousin (pictured above).  I mentioned the bill on Friday, but if you weren't paying attention, the bands in question were Blood Incantation, Gorguts, Mayhem (with and without cloaks), and the mighty Cannibal Corpse.  This was my third time seeing CC, and yep, they were predictably awesome.  They opened with "Evisceration Plague."  Man, I can appreciate how hard it must be putting that setlist together, as the guys are now sixteen albums deep.  They did manage to throw in a few curveballs among the staples, namely "Disfigured" and "Pounded into Dust."

My neck is dead.  George isn't kidding when he tells the crowd that they will fail (miserably) to keep up with his headbanging.  He should donate his neck muscles to science, though I suppose he would want his corpse to be destroyed in the most violent way possible.  As for the other bands, everything sounded fantastic.  Of course, I picked up merch.  After I bought a Blood Incantation shirt, the dude behind the table gave me a Gorguts shirt for free (!).  I also grabbed a signed copy of Corpsegrinder's solo album and popped it in on the way home.  All in all, 'twas a grand evening.

Blood Incantation

The Corpse

Be good...

Random Vincent Locke artwork.

I've got Locke on the brain since I'm staring at the cover of Chaos Horrific, the new album by Cannibal Corpse.  Yes, there will be a review in time.  Before the review, I'll have other words to write about the legendary death metallers, as I'm seeing them live tomorrow night...!  The bill is full of badass.  Also appearing?  Blood Incantation, Gorguts, and Mayhem.  Yeah.  My neck is going to be incredibly sore when I return home.  See you later!

Random Match Alert

Apropos of nothing, here is Sting/Muta vs. The Steiner Brothers...!

Rassle Inn #45

What a difference a day makes.  Take Friday, for example.  WWE Smackdown has become appointment television on account of Bloodline drama and the career renaissance of L.A. Knight, not to mention what happened last week.  If you weren't paying attention (and I can hardly blame you for growing disenchanted with the blue brand of old), The Rock made a surprise appearance and verbally trounced poor Austin Theory, who has now been upbraided by both Rocky and John Cena.  Time will tell if this kind of treatment will help the still-sprouting Theory, but at least he can say that he played a part in a segment that "did a number."

I wasn't joshing about Smackdown being appointment television.  I can't believe I'm saying this, but I actually look forward to tuning in each week.  The same cannot be said for AEW's Dynamite, a flagship show bereft of a flag or a ship.  It's strange to cling to nostalgia when it comes to a company so young, but four years ago, AEW was a buzzword.  It had been two decades since Vince McMahon had to worry about a rival promotion, and while the roster was thin at the time (Chris Jericho notwithstanding), prospects presaged a new alternative that fans could feast on.  A TV deal meant that there was room enough at the dinner table for such an enterprise.  Would competition beget better wrestling?

Man, I was on board for AEW.  I attended a couple of Dynamite tapings, I bought the merchandise, and most importantly (for the purposes of this column anyway), I watched the shows religiously.  Ever since CM Punk was expatriated from the premises, I have lost a lot of the zeal I once held for Tony Khan's pet project.  It has become clear that the snake has no head, to steal a Corrosion of Conformity songtitle.  The worrying lack of structure behind the scenes brings WCW to mind.  And I want to be optimistic.  I want to root for the underdog, but good heavens, recent events have made it hard for me to keep my chin up.

It's pretty simple.  On one channel, you've got The Bloodline, you've got Judgment Day (and all of Dirty Dom's heat that comes with it), you've got perennial babyface Cody Rhodes, you've got a respectable tag team division, you've got NXT on the rebound (watch out for Bron Breakker), you've got Io everloving Sky, and you've got The Rock.  On the other channel, you've got Orange Cassidy saying that he's tired.  You know what, dude?  So am I.

The Haunted Sea

I don't know where to begin with this one.  Maybe the beginning?  You know that I have a thing for monsters, especially those of the "rubber suit" variety.  Well, The Haunted Sea, which I somehow missed upon its street date in 1997, sports a serious ripsnorter.  A ghost ship is discovered near the Yucatan Peninsula, and I've already spilled more details than is necessary.  Be patient with me.  Our crew of windjammers ferrets out a sheaf of Aztec treasure.  After requisite character introductions and a liberal tinge of gratuitous nudity (thank you, Krista Allen), one of the mariners is optically jolted by a statue of Quetzalcoatl.  Yes, the same deity that assails New York in Larry Cohen's Q: The Winged Serpent.

This is a New Horizons picture, so it shouldn't surprise you to learn that it misappropriates Aztec mythology.  First of all, Quetzalcoatl is a winged serpent.  The creature in this movie is essentially a were-snake that has the ambulatory properties of a raptor.  I did some reading, and sure enough, The Haunted Sea repurposes dinosaur effects from Carnosaur 2.  Roger, you crafty son of a bitch.  Make no mistake, Mr. Corman's fingerprints are all over this flick.  I, for one, wouldn't have it any other way.  For being direct-to-video swill, it's remarkably easy to watch.  The 73-minute running time helps matters.  I didn't get too many chances to cantankerously look at my watch and sigh like a self-respecting jackhole critic.

Have I mentioned the gratuitous nudity yet?  Oh, I have?  Because I think director Dan Golden wants me to mention it again.  We see stupidly large breasts within five minutes of the opening credits.  If I didn't know any better, I'd wager that Golden shot the nude scenes first just in case his starlet had second thoughts.  Oh, wait.  That was actually what happened.  Have you no shame, Quetzacoatl?  Elsewhere, the death sequences are plenty bloody.  They have the adverse consequence of showing us endless footage of people walking down shadowy corridors.  Oh, I can't get enough people walking down shadowy corridors.

In summation, I can't say that I was terribly offended by The Haunted Sea.  It's not exactly praiseworthy, but it gave me what I wanted.  "An unofficial Carnosaur sequel?"  Yes.  I mean, no.  It gave me wacky monster action in less time than it takes Roman Reigns to enter a ring.  Seriously, 73 minutes?  That's downright scrupulous.  Why, it's kind.  Recommended to fans of naked women and James Brolin's general indifference.

  

Geek Out #166

So I was watching an old episode of WCW Saturday Night that someone taped off television and charitably uploaded to YouTube with commercial breaks intact.  Then I saw this beautiful thing.  I have vivid memories of renting Leatherface: The Texas Chainsaw Massacre 3 as a wee lad (it scared the shit out of 6-year-old Dom), but I have never seen this particular TV spot.  We see 'ol Leather standing before a lake of some description.  A chainsaw clasped in presumably ghoulish hands rises from the water and twirls in the sky, landing in the butcher's custody.  He spins around and faces the camera.  "The most controversial horror film ever starts Friday, January 12th."

How badass is that???  It's too bad that the studio-mangled movie didn't live up to its advertising.

Album Cover of the Whatever

Hinduist black metal?  Sure, why not?  Here we have the cover of Rahu's The Quest for the Vajra of Shadows.

Now Playing #7

Draconis - Overlords of the Greying Dawn

I play in a lot of online golf tournaments.  I just realized how nerdy that sounds, but hey, everyone else is freaking out over Starfield.  We're all nerds, aren't we?  Anyway, I bring it up to mention the fact that here lately, my rounds at some of the most tranquil courses on the globe have been soundtracked by this album.  There's nothing quite like hitting a booming drive into the fairway at say, Augusta, while listening to melodic black metal.  Draconis deal in breakneck, expeditious material that recalls their Swedish counterparts.  Overlords is their 1998 debut, a brushwood-burning set that could be favorably compared to Sacramentum or Lord Belial.  Somewhat stunningly, the band calls California home.

Favorite tracks?  Get acclimated to "Descending the Shadowed Passage to Nocturnal Realms" and "Unseen Reflections of Interdimensional Transfixions."  Badass songtitles, no?  Unfortunately, Draconis is no longer active, but they released music as recently as 2010.  Do you think the hooded figures on the cover are playing an intense game of Crossfire?

Spirit Adrift - Ghost at the Gallows

When this band crept onto the scene, they were casually convulsed into the modern doom category (Khemmis, Pallbearer, et al.).  I suppose that was appropriate if you listen to their first two albums, especially the expansive Curse of Conception.  Since then, they have cordoned off other influences, namely Bay Area thrash and traditional heavy metal.  Gallows puts all of their records into a blender and hits "shred."  I don't...I don't actually know how blenders work, but my point stands.  Somewhere.  This is a fine collection of harmonized leads, anthemic choruses, and of course, muscular riffs.  I'd say this is easily Spirit Adrift's best work since Conception, EP's included.  Plus, there's an owl on the cover.  The jury's out on whether or not it's playing a 90's board game.

Busy, busy, busy...

You wouldn't know it from checking on the site, but I've been ridiculously busy (and a little bit stressed out) this past week.  I've had zero time to write.  Hopefully, my schedule will clear up soon.  I do have ideas for...stuff.

Blood Capsule #159

THE ETERNAL (1998)

Ultimately, your enjoyment of this film hinges on what you bring into it.  That's probably true of every film, but I needed a first sentence and that's what came out.  Typically, I'll do a certain amount of research before writing a capsule.  Information on the cast and crew, the general consensus of the audience (assuming there is an audience)...y'know, the usual particulars.  Nothing too abstract.  In the case of The Eternal, I absquatulated* without performing my due diligence.  I just didn't care.  If you're looking for someone to blame, don't look at me.  I was ready to have fun with this quasi-mummy flick.  "Quasi-mummy, you say?"  Yep.  Technically, we're dealing with the revivified remains of a druid witch, but she's an Egyptian druid witch.  You say tomato, I say straight-to-video.

Speaking of which, the late 90's were kind to horror movies with a limited release.  That's a euphemism for "straight-to-video," although today, I guess The Eternal would bypass theaters by going straight to streaming platforms.  Some of my favorite time-wasters from my adolescence fall under this umbrella.  I managed to avoid this one upon its release.  If I had known that the plot borrowed scraps from Tale of the Mummy and Under Wraps, I would have...been disappointed just the same.  In terms of pacing, our exposition shambles in slow-motion.  The artsy-fartsy script treats its characters and their relationships as precious commodities, but in truth, you couldn't begin to care about these people.  At least I couldn't.

Christopher Walken has a supporting role as a professor, which is supposed to impress you.  He goes through the motions.  Meh.  There is a scene where a guy is harpooned by a phonograph record.  That was kind of funny.

*To steal the balls of a sasquatch.  Wait, that can't be right.

Random Match Alert

Here we have a young, hungry CM Punk facing off against a late-in-the-game Val Venis.  Ironically, the commentators mention Punk's work on the "independent circuit."  You can tell that the office likes him, as this is anything but a squash.

Just a quick note...

I'm not going to devote an entire column to this, but I did want to chime in on the CM Punk/Jack Perry controversy.  If this were any other era in wrestling, this would have kickstarted a money program.  Granted, I don't know that many people would tune in to see the former Jungle Boy wrestle, but clearly, this is a feud that would boost ratings.  We have a situation where genuine heat backstage could steal eyeballs away from WWE, even if it's out of morbid curiosity.  But it won't happen.  Because Tony Khan isn't a real wrestling booker and Jack Perry isn't a real professional wrestler.

It's a shame, as Perry's heel work in recent months has impressed his naysayers (the Cornettes of the world).  It can't be argued that he has improved on the mic from where he was a couple of years ago.  Seems like a childish prick, but what can you do?

The Thing From Another World

Everyone creams over John Carpenter's The Thing, and understandably so.  It's a frigid, suffocating classic with special effects that have aged well over the years (understatement of the century).  But I was looking forward to revisiting the 1951 original.  Of course, I'm referring to it as the original, but Carpenter's version isn't as much of a remake as it is an intemperate adaptation of its source material.  And no, I haven't read the short story.  Reading is hard.

Initially, our extraterrestrial brute was more of a plant monster with tentacles and such (think triffids).  Budgetary restrictions meant that the picture would have to go down the infallible, tried-and-true route of "man in a suit" stuntwork.  So even though The Thing From Another World is essentially Frankenstein on Ice, it's still a capable blast of science fiction jollification.  I'm debating whether or not I should bother with a synopsis.  Eh, let's see how far we get until I lose my patience with words.

We join a reporter, a scientist, and a regiment of Air Force pilots in a remote outpost located at the North Pole.  There has been a crash nearby, but according to radar, this is no ordinary plane.  As a matter of fact, it's an orbicular space module (I could have just said UFO) that houses a pilot of its own.  The eight-foot alien bruiser is transported back to the exploration site in a block of ice.  It's only a matter of time before he thaws out and causes a disturbance amidst an Arctic storm.

Conceptually, this is a fairly unique storyline.  I can count on one hand the number of films that vilify carrots, though I'm sensitive to the plight of the carrot community.  "What the hell are you driving at, Dom?"  Well, if you'd let me finish, the titular thing has the molecular make-up of a vegetable.  To be specific, it's a carnivorous plant.  TV cowboy James Arness gives an appropriately stiff performance as the interstellar tyrant.  Yeah, you could say that he merely mimics Boris Karloff, but he knows how to throw his sizeable frame around.  I won't detract points for the lack of head spiders.

While we don't spend enough time with the main characters to truly empathize and warm up to them, the cast handles the quick dialogue well.  I will admit that some of the chatter is too quick.  If you don't use subtitles, which I usually do (hey, I'm getting old), you will lose important details here and there.  The script is swarming with pseudo-scientific jargon that could be made up for all I know.  I mean, sure, I know that a rosette of biennial leaves produces a considerable amount of sugars that are stored in the taproot to provide energy for the plant, but not everyone can...um, reference Wikipedia at the drop of a mouse.

On the whole, The Thing From Another World is a rock solid sci-fi/horror movie that exists as a vestige of a bygone era.  John Carpenter did blow it out of the water, but c'mon.  You've got to give a little love to the golden oldies.  After all, nostalgia is the warmest place to hide or something to that effect.

   

Gamera spotted on Mtn Dew bottles?

I was cruising around in the soda aisle of a supermarket the other day (standard afternoon fodder for me) when I spotted a kaiju in the wild.  Apparently, this label design is two years old (!?), but I'm just now seeing it.  I swear to God, bottles of Mtn Dew Code Red are emblazoned with an image of a giant turtle monster causing a ruckus and clutching a cherry.  Now, how many giant turtle monsters do you know?  Does Daiei Film know about this?  I guess the biggest question I have is WHAT THE F*CK?

Why on Earth would a soft drink brand cross-pollinate with such a random intellectual property, much less one that hasn't been culturally relevant here in the states for eons?  And why a bootleg Gamera?  Why not work with Daiei to use official Gamera iconography?  Oh, and why Gamera???  Is there a new film on the horizon that I don't know about?  So.  Many.  Questions.

Album Cover of the Whatever

Today's bitchin' album cover comes courtesy of Rabid Beast, an EP from the band of the same name.  Musically, this is belligerent thrash that lives up to its artwork.  Well done, gents.

Rassle Inn #44

The G1 Climax wrapped up recently.  AEW has Wembley coming up just around the bend.  Suffice to say, there is a lot happening in the world of wrestling.  So naturally, I did what any sane mark would do on a slow Monday night.  I watched (half of) Greed, the last PPV churned out by WCW.  It was bittersweet.  Nostalgia can do funny things to a man.  I missed most of this stuff when it was new.  In early 2001, I was 16 years old, and I was just beginning to "grow out" of professional wrestling.  A few years earlier, I was a WWF fanboy.  I had flipped the tube over to Nitro maybe once or twice during the Monday Night Wars, and while I didn't outright loathe the competition, I can't say that anything grabbed me.

Taking in Greed, you can see the seeds of modern wrestling pullulating, especially as it relates to high spots.  Cruiserweights ruled the roost.  As a matter of fact, this card saw the culmination of a scanty tournament to crown the first-ever WCW Cruiserweight Tag Team Champions.  For those playing at home, Elix Skipper and Kid Romeo reigned victorious.  "Who???"  I can hear you now.  And I wouldn't blame you for not recognizing those names.  If you ask me, the titles should have gone to either The Jung Dragons or Three Count.  Or anyone but Elix Skipper and Kid Romeo.

Man, the roster was congested with talents that were THIS CLOSE (you'll have to imagine the appropriate hand gesture...no, not that one) to becoming full-fledged stars.  The curtain puller featured Kwee Wee squaring off against Jason Jett.  They were dead serious about pushing this Jett fellow.  He acquired a handful of convincing wins in the weeks leading up to WCW's abrupt abeyance.  And then?  Nothing.  According to Wikipedia, he was released from his contract during a stint with the Heartland Wrestling Association, a developmental territory owned by the former Federation.  Makes you wonder.  If WCW had managed to stay afloat, would Jason Jett be a respected name in the industry?

There are scads of guys with the same story.  Chuck Palumbo, Sean O'Haire, Billy Kidman (I can't believe he didn't amount to much in Connecticut), Shawn Stasiak (paired with Stacy Kiebler, he looked like a million bucks), Mark Jindrak, Buff Bagwell...just kidding about ol' Buff Daddy.  The others?  Wasted potential.  So yeah, Greed is actually worth watching on a slow Monday night.  Is it possible I'm only saying that to justify paying for Peacock?  Hmm, no comment.  Mind your own business.

Blood Capsule #158

NIGHTSCREAM (1997)

Way to go, Paul.  That's right.  I'm naming you!  You deserve to be tarred and feathered in public for giving me this...this unseemly case of vaginal yeast.  Why am I defrocking this Paul character, and what is the recommended treatment for vaginal yeast?  First of all, I'll need a pelvic exam.  Then I'll have to test my vaginal secretions.  And finally, Paul is the >insert profane noun here< who "gifted" me a copy of NightScream, a made-for-Lifetime (I'm assuming) domestic thriller of sorts that finds Candace Cameron at the center of a convoluted murder mystery.  You see, her doppelganger was brutally dispatched, and her boyfriend may have been involved.  Or killed.  It's not altogether clear.  Nothing is altogether clear.

I take that back.  NightScream establishes one truism.  If you have a penis, you are either a criminal or a corrupt official of some distinction.  Casper Van Dien collects a paycheck as a seedy suitor.  Teri Garr plays a woman who doesn't react to learning that her husband is the town heavy, a veritable monster covering for his rapist son.  Oh, spoiler warning.  This film, much like arsenic, is not meant for human consumption.  A quick trip to IMDb tells me everything I need to know about director Noel Nosseck.  He specializes in made-for-TV scrapings.  Just forget that you ever knew about NightScream.  It's muck.  Swill.  Bottom of the barrel.  I think I've made my point.

Geek Out #165

I've been watching loads of vintage episodes of Headbanger's Ball lately, including this lovely Halloween special hosted by Alice Cooper (Dave Mustaine and Iggy Pop also appear).  Obviously, it's played for camp.  I wouldn't have it any other way.

Meg 2: The Trench

I'm currently listening to Ontological Mysterium, the new album by progressive death metallers Horrendous.  That has jack-all to do with Meg 2: The Trench, but I'm trying to psych myself into writing this review.  I'm not really feelin' it.  We'll just ease our way into things.  How does that sound?  I thought I had reviewed the first Meg, but maybe I was thinking about the book.  I did see the original.  In my eyes, Megnado was a top-flight creature feature with broadloom special effects that convinced me I was looking at actual prehistoric beasties tear coastlines asunder.  Jason Statham is the right action hero for these flicks.  Apparently, he did most of his own stunts on the sequel, including fathering a small Asian girl.

Plot?  I don't know why you care, but The Trench picks up with random espionage nonsense.  Jason...er, Jonas is the world's only spy-slash-marine biologist.  I'm not sure how those two worlds collided, but for what it's worth, he's the James Bond of oceanography.  In case you were wondering if this was a Hollywood construct, there is an opposing sect of marine biologists.  Yes, evil marine biologists.  I was reminded of Twister, a film that wants us to believe there are good and bad storm chasers.  Anyway, our protagonists are in a deep-sea submersible when the true villains turn heel and...vie for control of sharks?  I'm a bit slow, but I didn't quite understand the plan here.  They want to use ocean exploration for nefarious purposes?  Okey-dokey.

If there is one fissure in Meg 2's masthead, it's the flabby midsection that focuses too much on human drama.  There were several points where the script seemed to forget about the behemoth in the title.  If you buy a ticket to watch this motion picture on the big screen (Dolby, baby!), you are there for carnage.  You don't particularly care why Solemn Blonde and her boyfriend aim to greedily subvert a research dive, or at least I didn't.  But that's enough bellyaching.  The Trench earns its 3.5-Z'Dar rating with rowdy action sequences, immaculate CGI, and just enough character sweetening to raise the stakes.  In other words, you want James Bond to win.

Come to think of it, I don't have anything else to say.  It's pretty simple.  Meg 2: The Trench delivers upscale schlock in spades.  And don't worry; the doggy survives.