Album Cover of the Whatever

If you're into traditional heavy metal and Accept's "Fast as a Shark," you'll be into Satan's Hallow.  Musically, it could have been recorded in the early 80's.  The cover?  Horror film poster.  The power lines are exquisite minutia, and they remind me of...well, "small town" horror films.



The "freezer girl" is an odd image for posters and DVD covers of David Cronenberg's Rabid, as she only appears for one second, if that.  She isn't the girlfriend or the girlfriend's girlfriend (she looks like you).  In fact, we don't even get her name.  Eh, just something I thought was peculiar.  With this flick under my cummerbund, I've officially seen all of Croney's early feature-length titles.  It took way too long.  It's not as inviting as The Brood.  And that might be it as far as concrete opinions go.  Watching Rabid, my vitals didn't pendulate strongly toward either love or hate.  Can't say the same for my reproductive organs.  Girl, please!

If you didn't know, the girl in Rabid is porn starlet Marilyn Chambers. Surprisingly, she's the best thing about the film, at least in this ninnywit's opinion.  It's hard to fathom why she didn't have more luck going legit.  She had looks, charisma, looks, she could...remember lines.  I promise that I won't focus on her appearance, but I fancy a good 70's babe.  Chambers is the definition of a smokin' babe! Needless to say, she loses her top in an aggregation of scenes, although most of them are not provocative in a hibbity-bibbity way. Personally, I've never climaxed into an armpit vagina.  That's my cue to shed a few plot details.

Rose (Chambers) and her boyfriend (Frank Moore) are in a motorcycle accident, and while her main squeeze emerges with cracked ribs, she isn't quite as fortunate.  No, I'm afraid that Rose requires skin grafts.  Don't ask me how (and don't bother asking the movie), but the surgical procedure "infects" her with a rapacious form of rabies.  She is patient zero.  Oh, and this disease has turned her left armpit into a nasty monster with a needle tongue.  It drains blood from Rose's victims.  Is she a vampire?  A succubus?  A walking metaphor?  A combination of all three, it seems.  Shades of The Crazies, I Drink Your Blood, Dawn of the Dead, and a grain of Species.  Naked Marilyn Chambers is a dead ringer (Cronenberg reference, for the win!) for naked Natasha Henstridge.

Plot holes aside, Rabid is entertaining enough.  I intimated that I was on the fence earlier, but truth be written, I enjoyed it more than I didn't.  I've developed a taste for Croney's clinical dialogue.  The pace is hectic without feeling rushed and the characters resemble real people.  Did I mention that Chambers is hawt?  I hate to do it, but I must detract Z'Darrage for the porous script.  Do cops exist in this universe?  Rose is siphoning deadbeats in public, and I didn't spot a single goddamn member of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police.  I'm trying so hard not to drop a WWF joke right now.  You have no idea.

On the Cronenberg scale of body horror, Rabid ranks above Despicable Me.


NXT Round-Up?

Dom, why the question mark?  Well, I'm not sure about the title, though I may keep it.  I was hoping that one of you obliging chaps could help devise something more clever.  Anyshit, this is the first of what I'd like to be many round-ups of NXT, airing weekly on the WWE Network.  I'm not an abettor, but I do subscribe (mainly because of NXT).


I feel like such a dicknose saying this, but I can't stand Ruby's face.  I won't use the "u" word.  It's just that she has the bone structure of a bird.  Birdman was awesome, but I wasn't crazy about The Bird People in China.  So yeah.  Thankfully, she can work, as evidenced by her indie exploits under the name Heidi Lovelace.  Nikki is badass, and her gimmick does harmonize with that of Ruby.  It may not be apparent at first (it took me a minute to decrypt), but the storyline here has a few layers.  I'm on board!  Let's see where this goes.


So Almas has found a groove as the aloof, happy-go-lucky heel. The interview segment where he blows off questions and hops into a limousine with a concourse of club chicks was a great touch. Meanwhile, McIntyre (an old favorite of mine) continues to build momentum with win after win.  He has a rugged look that suits him. I'll never understand why Vinnie Mac didn't push him to Neptune during his initial run with the company, especially after branding him "The Chosen One."  There is no excuse this time around.  Oh, and can he have a new finisher?  There are too many NXT/WWE superstars with kick-based signature moves.


Black is a cool character.  I dig how they're introducing him, but does the entrance need to be so leisurely, for lack of a better term?  He's not The Undertaker.


This match was exactly what I expected it to be, and that's an endorsement.  Technical, hard-hitting, knitted with "pretzel" submissions...that shit looked painful.  Best of all, it wasn't a clown match.  We got to see the Jack Gallagher from the Cruiserweight Classic, as opposed to the punchinello jester twerp we see on Raw. A sound way to end the show.



Patience, my sweets.  Patience.  Go back...to sleeeeeeep...


Shit Happened

NXT is on tonight and I'd like to do a weekly recap/review of the show.  I would have knocked out another movie review by now, but fucking shit happened.  There's a bumper sticker in there somewhere.  I'll get to everything eventually.  Calm down!


I Voided

The Void started out as an Indiegogo campaign.  I remember seeing the "concept reel" (or "whatever the fuck") and being blown away. But that's the thing; images are easy.  I watched the final product last night, and visually, this cooter knocks it out of the park.  Huh, I've never referred to a movie as a cooter before.  Groundbreaking? MAYBE.

Right, so if you've heard rumblings about The Void, the practical effects are just as amazing as you might be prognosticating.  As a point of reference, go all the way back to Stuart Gordon's From Beyond.  Or John Carpenter's The Thing.  If it were released in the early-to-mid 80's, it would be prized as a cult classic today.  No question.  Unfortunately, the answers we are given for the gooey nightmare fuel don't actually answer many questions.  It's a moderately thin explanation.  Overall, I still had fun, as it's nice to see true-blue horror in 2017 that doesn't fall over itself winking at the audience.

I guess that's it.  I didn't have time to do a full, in-depth review (family is visiting).  Besides, I wouldn't want to stray from my David Cronenberg binge, now would I?


Blood Capsule #71


I saw this film as a teenager.  It didn't win me over, if I'm being honest.  I wanted to give it another chance to stroke my liverwurst. David Cronenberg is among my favorite directors, after all.  Sure enough, it took two viewings to finish Scanners, as I fell asleep at the mezzo point.  Even genre annalists have to admit that it's a dull sit.  I did enjoy it more this time around.  Michael Ironside is fucking phenomenal (and a teensy bit creepy) as the villainous scanner who goes rogue.  I loved Patrick McGoohan and Cronenberg regular Robert Silverman as a scientist who knows more than he lets on and one of Revok's converts, respectively.

Was that a hypozeuxis?  Click HERE to find out!  Sorry.  I'm so, so sorry.  Anyway, it never feels like Scanners is trying to entertain you. It doesn't care about the viewer.  Having said that, it's extremely interesting.  Note that that's not the same thing as being enthralling or engaging.  I held on and paid dear attention, but I was left with a sense of destitution.  Part of the problem is Stephen Lack's weak performance as Cameron, a character who isn't afforded much of a personality.  For me, this is a "whatever" flick.  But the head explosion is rad!



Small announcement!  The next four, maybe five movie reviews will all be (David) Cronenberg films.  One of them I have seen.  The others I have not.  Thank you.  You're welcome.


Album Cover of the Whatever

I'm not really into Raging Death.  They're a neo-thrash (or "nu-thrash") band with a thin sound.  But fuck that...check out the cover of their 2015 debut.  Killer, right?  The grim reaper, boobs, a full moon, vampire bats, boobs, a spookier-than-thou castle, boobs and other Dom-centric imagery.  I approve!



I don't know what possessed me to purchase 2001's Demonicus on VHS, but I did.  It's a Full Moon/Cult Video co-production.  That doesn't mean that any weighty, consequential amount of money was funneled into the assembly of this sewer de force.  It was shot on digital video, and as for the audio, yikes.  Let me try that again. Yikes!  There we go.  Was the boom microphone twined in gypsum wallboard?  Was there a draconian anti-looping policy instituted by the crew?  What I'm trying to say with these stupid words is that all of the dialogue is faint.  I could follow along, but I had to crank the volume up.

Even if this was a silent film, I doubt that I would be confused by the plot.  Hiking dumbasses (split into pairs, for dumbass reasons) stumble upon a corpse in a cave.  Lead dumbass James decides to wear the corpse's helmet (???).  This...um, "transforms" him into Demonicus, an ancient warrior who dabbled in black magic.  That's the nothing storyline.  God, this is such a nothing movie.  I'm embarrassed to be reviewing it.  I can't imagine how YOU feel, reading this nothing review.  It would be one thing if Demonicus turned out to be a pleasant surprise, an unlicked cub.  But nope. This isn't a diamond in the rough; it's spittle on an embankment of pebbles.  Or something to that effect.

Just spittle.  Yeah, it's just fuckin' spittle.  And not from a cute, sweet baby!  No, it's spittle from an asshole baby who slacks off at work and insults Mexicans.  I can make two statements in the film's favor. 1) The gore is damp.  I mean, they may only be severed limbs, but I was willing to play ball, considering the circumstances.  2) Most of the cast is competent.  I felt pity - actual pity - for the ones giving the least painful performances.  Bless their hearts.  I'll give Demonicus an extra plaudit, which I wouldn't do for most menial b-movies.  I was able to finish it, not unlike a flavorless, objectionable meal you have to plow through without thinking or breathing too much.

I've written enough about this foeticide.  Fuck Demonicus.


Geek Out #129

I'm mainly posting this because Pennywise concept art is cool. Basically, anything related to Pennywise is cool.  I'm of the mind that the upcoming theatrical adaptation of It looks rather promising, but this video concerns Tim Curry's take on the character.  Apologies for the weird, possibly German narrator.  Nothing I can do about it.



Well, that was a lot of wrestling.  From Saturday night to last night, WWE yielded over fifteen hours of content.  Fifteen fucking hours! I'm not going to review all of it, but I do have a couple of notes. Maybe a few.

How does one put into words The Undertaker's funereal retirement? Or his career, for that matter?  He has been my favorite "predetermined grappler" for a long time now.  The reason he commands so much respect is because he respects the business and never fails to put it first.  Even on Sunday night, he adhered to tradition by doing the honors, so to speak.  Look, I'm no Roman Reigns apologist, but marks and smarks alike don't seem to understand the causal nexus (no pun intended) of what went down. Any real fan of 'Taker - that's right; I'm pulling the "real" card - would know that this is how he wanted to decamp.  The final match had to be a loss.

I can understand wanting the victor to be a different person.  But hey, someone had to do it.  It might as well be someone who the crowd detests.  This sets up Roman for a heel run, and hopefully, he'll become more charismatic along the way.  I'll be honest...it was hard to type that with a straight face.  Speaking of honesty, I honestly thought that Wrestlemania 33 was a success.  My only real complaint?  Too many goddamn matches!  The TV product is so bloated.  Lose a few of those pre-match video packages.  You have commentators to tell the stories, not to mention the workers themselves.

Fuck Mojo Rawley.  I'm sure he's a nice guy or whatever, but FUCK him.  The annoying douche-jock character isn't getting over, dude. You and Gronk are two plebs in a pod.


The Wraith

I saw 1986's The Wraith as a teenager.  It was featured on TNT's MonsterVision, and I had a feeling that it was substantially annotated with a blue pencil.  In other words (you simple layman, you), I knew it had to be edited.  Well, I was kinda-sorta right.  The other night, I watched it again for the first time since the late 90's, and I was lucky enough to see Sherilyn Fenn's boobs.  And boy howdy, the gore.  The gore was...non-existent.  There was plenty of death; it's just that the fatalities croaked in explosions that would give Don Coscarelli a headstone.  Y'know, a pillar.  A ledger!  A HARD COCK.  Right, so that's that.

As we all know, drag racing was huge in the 80's.  If you judge by movies and music videos, you were not with the cool kids if you didn't participate in at least fourteen drag races.  Packard knows the deal. He's a high-handed bully who forces dudes to scuttle with him, and if he wins, he gets your wheels.  Don't like it?  Tough.  Packard is the fucking man - until, that is, his crew is picked off in succession.  By whom?  A black-clad mystery man who drives a black mystery car.  I mean, it's supposed to be a mystery, but it's not.  I'll tell you what, kid.  I dig the cut of your jibber-jabber, so I won't spoil it for you. Charlie Sheen.  It's Charlie Sheen.  Or is it???

This was one of Sheen's first lead roles.  His character's age is never made clear, but his "girlfriend" (the girl he decides to fuck) can usually be seen wearing a backpack.  Packard is in his mid-goddamn-30's, and that's an underestimation.  They're all decent actors, but the best and most endearing of the cast?  Look no further than Clint Howard.  God, he's splendid.  He plays Rughead, a bespectacled genius with eraser hair.  I'm not being facetious when I say he's the most endearing chap brought to light.  Rughead actually has more than one layer.  Should I be so bold as to call it a character arc?  Fuck it, it's my review.  He has a character arc!

Writer/director Mike Marvin gives The Wraith a polished veneer. The prolific car chases are shot extremely well, and I'd be lying if I said they didn't give me any thrills or spills.  You could argue that there were too many spills.  A cameraman died on set while filming an action sequence.  What is this, a John Landis production?  Sorry, I tend to jest in poor taste.  This b-picture is buttressed by a sprightly soundtrack.  I heard Ozzy Osbourne, Motley Crue and shitty dance-pop.  Hey, it kept the energy burbling.  So let's recap!  In the next block of text!

The pace is kinetic and the cast is acceptable.  At the shallow end of the pool, the plot is full of noticeable holes (where are the parents?) and the only villain is an annoying human.  No bloodshed, to boot! However, you could do worse on a drizzly afternoon.  My recommendation is to Netflix it.  Robert Z'Dar says, "I wouldn't trust John Landis with my chin.  Put him under the jailhouse.  That's my fucking recommendation."