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Now that's a goddamn album cover! I love the bubblegum gore. This is Hordes of the Apocalypse. The EP is The Melting Body Horror Experience. You can listen to it HERE, and apparently, it was recorded (and written?) earlier this month. Jesus! That's fast-tracking it. It begins with the theme song of The Green Slime, so it's definitely worth checking out.
UPDATE: These bastards have released three EP's (I probably don't need the apostrophe) this year!
On Wednesday night, Taya Valkyrie FINALLY made her Lucha Underground debut. Over the past year, I've become a fan of her work after discovering that she was the main chick down in AAA. She's smooth in the ring. Her body is candy bacon, as far as I'm concerned. Toned bacon, where all the fat deposits have dripped off and only the luscious flavor remains. Gulp. Unfortunately, she didn't wrestle, but I dig the way she was introduced. It looks like she'll be paired with Johnny Mundo. I can't wait to see the wreckage they effectuate and later outdistance.
Aside from the main event, E5 (that's "episode five," hombre) of S2 (if that's not self-explanatory, you probably have grandchildren) was a peak/valley batter. Strong matches, but that's a given with this show. The only problem that LU could encounter is picking the wrong talent to spotlight. That's essentially what happened here when Texano tangled with The Crew and...Chavo Guerrero. Look, nothing against him or the Guerrero clan, but I'd love to see a homogeneous focus on fresh, exciting talent. That's what makes Twitter pop. "Twitter? What the fuck, bro? You going soft on us?" Hey, in this case, I care about social media impressions because LU (and by extension, El Ray) needs them. I want it to keep doing well.
Chavo just strikes me as boring. Because he's boring. You know what isn't boring? This segue! NXT was spearheaded by a women's tag team match. Pros - Bayley and Carmella. Cons - The not-quite-there Nia Jax and the not-even-close Eva Marie. I must say, I'm perplexed by their booking of the latter two ladies, but at the same time, Bayley has to feud with someone until she faces a serious threat to her title. And it's going to be a lengthy reign. She is rumored to be battling Asuka (!!!) at the imminent Takeover event, but outside of Emma, no one else approaches Bayley's level. Yet.
America Alpha versus Blake & Murphy was fucking sick. The tag division is nuts. Unless they're being called up in the next month, Enzo & Cass need to win the straps, and I can't believe they haven't already. Are they seen as above the gold in NXT? That could very well be the reason why they are not champions. Shifting gears, we get Shinsuke Nakamura next week! Don't forget to hit "Like," and if you enjoyed this video, please subscr...wait. I don't do that.
PS ~ So Catrina can teleport now. Alrighty. I'll go with the flow; just don't empty me out into Flint, Michigan. Too soon? Too dated? This is hard.
I had originally planned to do a full review of 1964's Seance on a Wet Afternoon. Alas, I've been getting a lot of headaches lately. Maybe tension headaches, but I'm beginning to wonder if I have migraines. Or if my neck is simply kaput. Either way, I haven't been in a typing mood, but I wanted to say something about Seance because it's a really, really good movie. It doesn't qualify as a true creepshow, but it does float over the same sylvan sod as the all-steamrolling horror genre. Nowadays, it would be a "psychological thriller." And it is, so I wouldn't have much room to complain.
Kim Stanley is gobsmackingly astounding as Myra, a "psychic" who plots the kidnapping of a little girl and angles to use her "gift" in the media to "find" the missing child. "Quotation marks." Richard Attenborough is utterly convincing as the husband who reluctantly plays along, but is Myra really the one in control? If you're cool with talky expositions that stay the course, you'll bask in Seance's atmospheric glory. I recommend. Would moisten. I'm off to watch a bunch of wrestling...hmm, perhaps a spin of Seance's Saltrubbed Eyes is in order.
I never thought I'd review a James Bond film, but here I am doing just that. Technically, it's actor/writer/director James Bond III, but who's keeping track? His Def by Temptation helped resuscitate blaxploitation in 1990. To a point. I mean, very few people have heard of this slender-budgeted succubus spectacle. Ha! I'm still slaying the alliteration game. Anyway, this wedge of urban horror didn't have a whopping splash radius, so I could forgive you for just now hearing of it. It was distributed on home video (y'know, at your local retailer) by Troma. Wait, don't click away! Temptation doesn't carry jumentous Troma fumes. It's not without fault, but I wouldn't hesitate to file it under "pleasant surprises."
Horse urine. I'm saving you the trouble of opening a dictionary (like you would physically open a dictionary; give me a break). Describing something as "jumentous" is tantamount to saying that it reeks of horse urine. Look, I'm trying to edify inner city youths. I'm the Coach fucking Carter of genre journalism. Speaking of which, Samuel L. Jackson has a bit part in tonight's subject as an abusive priest. The stars of the showboat are James Bond III and Kadeem Hardison. You might recognize the latter as Dwayne Wayne from A Different World, a sitcom that I watched fairly religiously as a brat. Here, he isn't too far off from "Dwayne Wayne" mode. NOTE: I am always in "Dwayne Wayne" mode.
The acting is sturdy. Bond's performance is subtle and believable, a revelation I did not see coming. He plays Joel, a naive minister compelled to leave his hometown to find...well, himself. He shacks up with K (that's his name), his pal from yesteryear. Meanwhile, an alluring coquette is taking men home from bars and tearing them apart. Is there a link between Joel and our killer minx? Obviously. I'll forgo the rest of the synopsis for fear of disclosing too much information. I enjoyed Temptation, but it gets off on a tottery foot. The editing in the first ten minutes is atrocious. We jump from location to location and it's not quite clear if we're also jumping from decade to decade. Bond (the third, that is) doesn't handle flashbacks with refinement.
Thankfully, he picked Ernest R. Dickerson to be his cinematographer. I'm a fan. Dickerson helmed Tales From the Crypt: Demon Knight and the woefully underrated Bones. Every picture he has touched is cloaked in gossamer, eye-catching visuals. Def by Temptation is no exception, what with its bold dream sequences and flashy lighting. The special effects are a mixed bag, but I will say that the she-demon's final form is shuddersome. One critic was overheard exclaiming, "Damn, that bitch is creepy!" It was me. I was broadcasting the fact that said ghoul gave me the fidgets. I can neither confirm nor deny that she then proceeded to give me the willies. My family requests that the media allow us our privacy during this difficult time.
The characters are rich and layered. Again, my expectations were exceeded. It's a shame that Bond decided against revisiting fright fare, as it seems he has a knack for it. Hey, you only live twice. Robert Z'Dar says, "Whitley was a cocktease. What did Dwayne see in her?"
I'd like to start a weekly feature where I talk about the two best wrestling shows in North America. They both air on Wednesday nights. Obviously, one of them is Lucha Underground. The other is NXT. I'd love to be able to "review" them on Thursdays, but sometimes, it takes me a day or two to watch them. The fact that they both start at 8pm isn't the problem. The problem is that I don't get El Ray thanks to DirectTV changing their price packages with no provocation. Fuckers. So I'll try to have it up as soon as possible.
PS-That's not The Creeper from Jeepers Creepers. It's Drago. He's cool.
KOMODO (1999)
There was a brief window after Anaconda where "nature runs amok" CGI fests were not a daily occurrence. All too brief, as a matter of fact. Komodo slithered in at the tail end of that wrinkle. A bundle of lizard eggs - I'm sorry - dragon eggs are dumped on the coast of North Carolina (joy, we're associated with this flick). Twenty years later, these komodo kunts are BIG and BAD. Actually, komodo monitors are very large carnivores, but it should go without saying that Komodo ratchets up their size and bloodlust. Only-time director Michael Lantieri doesn't use CGI as a crutch. We get plenty of puppets, but you know what? The digital trickery is rather respectable. I don't have any complaints about the visual effects department.
I do have complaints about the capricious tone of the film. Komodo is saddled with heavy histrionics, and at times, it feels like a drama with disproportionate lizards in the background. It doesn't have any fun with itself. The script is too busy frowning. Believe it or not ("I'm walking on air"), that saps the energy from the finished product. I still give it a gentle recommendation. The action sequences are endowed, the cast is savvy (former Law & Order regular Jill Hennessy is a bright spot) and as I said earlier, those dang ol' reptile revolutionaries are slick customers. That's Komodo. Coming soon to video.
So lately, I've been focusing on movie reviews because that's my comfort zone. It's what I do best. Obviously, movies aren't the only puddles that we skip across here at RR Inc. There is also MEHTALZ and WRASSLIN'. Since I changed my "update schedule," I haven't bothered with other topics of interest, but that ends now. I'm going to utilize the fan club to do stuff that's been rattling around in the back of my head. Starting Monday, I will count down my top five favorite Opeth songs. It won't be easy, as Mikey and the boys have ruled my inner roost for fifteen years now, give or take. What's that? You haven't joined the club?
Just click HERE. Then click "Join" near the top where it says...uh, join. I might do a new list each week plus whatever else I feel like posting.
It seems like centuries ago, but when I first caught wind of 1972's The Red Queen Kills Seven Times, I wanted to watch and review it immediately. It looked too rad to be real. Clearly, I wasn't able to see it that very second. There were false starts in profusion. Everything from disappearing auctions (yes, I tried to watch it the legit way, and it would have cost me a pretty penny) to torrents that contained corrupted files. I even had the 35mm reels in my possession, but my dog ate them! Okay, that's a lie. I just wanted to make this story a little more exciting. In any event, I finally had brunch with this damn film. You probably have a few questions. What was it that made me want to catch this urinary tract infection? And was it worth the maddening hunt?
Red Queen is a giallo directed and co-written by Emilio Miraglia, the gentleman who brought us 1971's The Night Evelyn Came Out of the Grave. I don't remember where I heard the title, but I was sold on the trailer. Fuck plot; the imagery alone vellicated the dorsal root ganglia in my nervous system. First of all, the red queen herself is one creepy squaw. She wears a red cape and a pale mask. The mask reminded me of Curtains, while the cape...motherfuck, if George Costanza taught the world anything, it's that you never trust a person in a cape. I'm not convinced that Estelle wasn't cheating on Frank. I mean, what kind of lawyer...oy vey, I need to stamp out this tangent. Forgive me. We'll compare Seinfeld notes some other time, you and I.
As little girls, sisters Kitty and Evelyn were told of The Red Queen and The Black Queen, sisters themselves. Red stabbed Black seven times. Every hundred years since this brutal slaying, Red appears (eerily dressed, of course) in the castle to claim seven lives, the same castle that Kitty inhabits with her grandfather. Where is Evelyn? Dead. And yet, (The) Red (Queen) has been spotted roving the hallways and cackling into the night. Is Evelyn's ghost pissed off? Is someone trying to mindfuck Kitty? Did I eat one too many cupcakes this morning? Valid questions. For the first hour, I was fixated on the screen. Red Queen was shaping up to be everything I wanted it to be. Atmospheric? Check. Unnerving? Check. Stylish? Check. Bloody? Check.
The first death sequence - discounting flashbacks - is irreproachable. I'm talking Bava-level, folks. There are oodles of shots that will stay with you like a pockmark on your soul. However, the final act (to be precise, the final 40 minutes) crumbles. The mystery angle gets bogged down by extraneous characters and a resolution that doesn't quite gel. I was hoping this flick would rise above stock giallo tendencies, but nope, the ending is a convoluted mess. I won't elaborate for fear of spoiling an obscure plum of a potlatch that you should definitely check out. Due to the killer's costume, it smells of cockeyed slasherdom. So that's sweet. I just wish it was as badass as it could have been. The dubbing isn't horrible, but I wouldn't mind subtitles. Sorry, random observation.
I went back and forth on the rating. I'm giving it four Z'Dars, but boy, that's tenuous. I'm erring on the side of affirmative willingness because The Red Queen Kills Seven Times is different. For the most part, this isn't your standard "black gloves" giallo. It never comes up in discussions of Italian horror imports. What's that all about, LUIGI?
Disclaimer! I know the director of 2015's Slimy Little Bastards, but only in an online sense. We are cordial. We fucked ONCE. Once! Dave (or Mr. Parker, if you prefer), I don't even know you that well, and I shouldn't have to defend myself, buuuut the fact that our time together was earth-shattering (both physically and emotionally) does not grant you a license to stalk. Do I enjoy being stalked? Yes. Knock it off anyway, or I'll be forced to contact a constable. That said, this guy is a fan of "'small creature" flicks. You know the type...Gremlins, Critters, Ghoulies, Born on the Fourth of July, Hobgoblins, Beasties, et al. Slimy Little Bastards is his encomium to said features. Parker is well-intentioned, but I found the scene where Mama Bloomer burns an effigy of Harvey Korman to be in poor taste. We get it. No one enjoyed Munchies.
That paragraph was entirely too long. In addition to being a "small creature" vehicle, this jamboree is an anthology. You people know I'm big on dat shit. Bastards is comprised of three vignettes plus the requisite wrap-around story. A man's car breaks down, so he knocks on a door in the hopes of appealing to someone's beneficent nature. Well, he knocked on the wrong door. A mad goon donning a red cape answers, and he doesn't seem to be in a hurry to help our weary traveler. The goon is credited as The Curator. He has a collection of jars that house shapeless things floating in brightly colored liquids. Blue, orange, green...y'know, colors. Why the hell did I list examples of colors? Jesus.
You could probably guess where this is going. The Curator spins a yarn for each container - or rather, the thing IN each container. I'm fucking spooked! All kidding aside, I dig passion projects. It's readily apparent that the cast and crew care about what they're doing. This isn't a masterpiece. I think Parker is aware of that, and he does an admirable job of disbursing the elements at his disposal. I'm underselling the finished product, but a couple of items rocked my tortellini. The soundtrack is marvelous. Of course, it's super-duper "80's," but it's more diverse than one would expect. I must also laud Brandon Salkil for his crazed, enthusiastic performance as The Curator. How can you not respect the decision to channel Vincent Price?
Hmm, I might as well impart a few words on the vignettes themselves. "Organic Shit" is a great title, but if I'm being honest (I said if; I could be lying about everything), it's my least favorite of the slimeball triad. "Brain Busters" handles the tale of a shady, shifty-eyed psychotherapist with pill-popping tact. I'm not sure what that means. The bizarre plot brought Frank Henenlotter to mind (namely Brain Damage). I'd say that "Crusties" is the most well-rounded short here. The evil frog is boss. I don't want to shit on the effects, so...I won't. This is a true no-budgeter. If you purchase Slimy Little Bastards, you know what kind of goop you're stepping into. In a way, this project is review-proof. "Then why review it, Dom?" Because, you yawping shithead, I support the underground where I can. Death to false bastards!
This is another blog-esque post. Don't worry (you're not worried); the next thing I write will be a normal review. I was going to review 1988's Alien Nation, but when you sleep through 30 minutes of it and you don't feel like mounting a second survey of the landscape, you opt to chat about it instead. See how informal this is? I'm naked. You're naked. We're just having fun! I wish I owned the box set that contains all of the Alien Nation made-for-TV movies. Of course, there was also a TV series that ran for a single season. For a transient moment, this shit was a big deal, but it's not remembered very well in modern times. You would never guess that it was somewhat successful and well-received.
The inculcation began with this theater-bound sci-fi feature set in Los Angeles three years after a spaceship lands in the Mojave Desert. The aliens reveal themselves to be escaped slaves from Jupiter. Actually, I don't remember the name of the planet, but I know it wasn't Earth. It's amazing how relevant Alien Nation is in 2016. The "newcomers" are treated as if they were Syrian refugees. They're even disobliged with hate speech (the term "slag" is used as degrading impudence). I'm inclined to believe that it would take longer than three years for some of them to hold down jobs such as mayor and police detective, but I'm willing to let that nagging hurdle slide.
I dug Mandy Patinkin as Sam Francisco, star fuzz. James Caan is dandy as Detective Sykes, but let's be honest. He plays grizzled cops in his daydreams. In my daydreams, I play a transgender gondolier whose gondola has been abducted by the Korean mafia. They want five billion dollars, dickpuke! That's what they call me. Dickpuke. Um, Alien Nation is pretty entertaining. I can only vouch for, like, an hour of it, but that's a majority.
It's so ironic that you asked me about aliens and shit, Tom. I've been keeping an eye on the new season of The X-Files. It wasn't beloved, but I enjoyed the premiere, despite the crushing plot holes. The second episode fizzled. In my opinion, El Episado Numera Three (holy shit, that was needlessly racist...my apologies) has been the alp of the "comeback." Most fans tend to agree. Writer/director Devin Morgan hammered his trademark humor into the script. I love it when Mulder and Scully goof off. It's clear that the cast is having a grand time. Did the fanservice bother me? Y'know, the fantasy sequence where Scully feigns the role of a sexpot? No, it did not.
Oh, and the story is ridiculously clever. If you're not watching along with the rest of the cool kids, then guess what? You're not a cool kid!
This is just a general update. I've watched a wide variety of things over the past few days. I want to hone in on a couple of those things (here's my review of Things while I'm thinking about things). Turbo Kid just missed out on my Top 5 of 2015 list, as I wasn't able to pack in a viewing under my self-imposed deadline. It turns out that I happen to love it. Apple might be one of my favorite characters in the last ten years. She is relentlessly beaming, and it would be irritating if not for the shrewd dialogue and Laurence Laboeuf's dialed-in performance. Because of the comic book gore (not to mention the 80's affectations), Turbo Kid has an Astron-6 vibe to it. I've read allusions to Troma, but no. No.
It's brutally lightweight. That's the best description I can muster. I would trot out a synopsis, but why? You know that you're going to watch it (if you haven't already, that is). I felt like it was my civic goddamn duty to sit down with Netflix's Making a Murderer. Here is what I recently said about it on Facebook:
"Okay, okay, okay...I started watching Making a Murderer. Like, I just started episode three. What the fuck? Hallbach has been presumed dead, Avery is arrested, I know he's still in jail...and there are still seven full episodes left??? That's seven hours! Why should I keep watching? Is there something super juicy I need to know? Is there super juice? Are there fucking zombies in episode eight? DOES THE WOMAN FROM 1985 UNRAPE HERSELF?"
I later wondered if it was all a dream. Anyway, I hope you can taste my disbelief. How could there be enough content for that many more episodes? I totally understand why this series became a nationwide phenomenon, but at this point, you don't need to digest the whole collation (unless you're super, super curious). Hell, Wikipedia will catch you up. On the subject of the actual case(s), they are disconcerting displays of power abuse. I haven't absorbed enough to form an opinion on Avery's culpability in regards to his murder charges, but it wouldn't be a shock to the system to discover that he is innocent. More at eleven.
I'll be back when I'm back. Hey, if anyone wants to gift me a copy of 1994's Hellbound on VHS, please get in touch. Wink, wink.
