Virus

Remember when I reviewed 1997's Phantoms for the nationally-observed month of Koontztober?  It's okay; I can barely remember what I wrote sixty seconds ago.  In any event, remember when I reviewed 1997's Phantoms for the nationally-observed month of Koontztober?  It's okay; I...can see that this joke has already been herded into old sod.  My point!  My point is that I reminded my darling readers that monster movies trudged on through a fusillade of spacey (no pun intended), incurious slashers.  The Ghostfaces of the film industry didn't make it easy, but evidence suggests that the good old-fashioned creature feature can - and will - survive a shelling of shit. I'm talking about a real rogering!

Taking the glossy production values out of the equation, you would never guess that Virus was birthed in the late 90's.  From what I've gathered, it was a natural birth.  Donald Sutherland could be seen waving as he scuttered down the cervix by the Satanic agency of gravity.  Here is something else you won't believe; the lion's share of the special effects on display are perfectly practical.  Actually, the CGI is refined.  Again, it was 1999.  If you adjust your expectations accordingly, you'll enjoy a cinematic meteor shower of biomech mercenaries and sliced borg flesh.

So what the fuck would a Virus synopsis look like?  I'll try to avoid details, as I tend to...well, I despise plot summaries.  Why can't you just click your dick over to IMDb and leave me alone? If pressed for comment (and at knifepoint), I'd say that this flick concerns an American boating crew salvaging the cargo of a seemingly deserted Russian ship.  Granted reprieve from the eye of a typhoon, mariners such as William Baldwin and Jamie Lee Curtis begin to connect the dots as they relate to the mysterious disappearances of both people and equipment.  It turns out that an alien force of some description has been hard at work marrying the most sensible attributes of man and machine.

The characters are bland.  They lack a certain punch.  To be frighteningly specific, they lack Hawaiian Punch Polar Blast.  This thing is gory as hell.  Why doesn't anyone ever mention the "body horror" hecatomb that Virus brings to the table?  I mean, blood is let in toe-curling, sinew-gnawing ways.  You want memorable?  To paraphrase D-Generation-X, I got two words for ya...MECHA-SUTHERLAND!  Motherfucker deserved his own franchise.  Look, I get that Virus is a stale sci-fi product that has "major studio" tattooed on its taint, but sometimes, fun spontaneously combusts and cameras are there to catch it.

This sweetheart is a hodgepodge of Robocop, Carpenter's The Thing, and a sheepish dram of Deep Rising.  Z'Dar says, "If I were a movie, I would be Virus, only sexier."

   

How about Triffids versus Devil Bats?

I did watch the bulk of 1963's The Day of the Triffids, but I won't be reviewing it.  Too much going on, y'know?  Totally worth perusing, though.  It's a surprisingly cold, menacing film.  Anyway, I just got done co-hosting a Halloween get-together, which I realize is an awkward sentence.  The key to hosting parties?  1940's The Devil Bat bubbling in the background at a muffled, halcyon volume.  Thank you for being a friend, Bela.

Jack-On

I haven't done nearly enough writing this month.  I mean, it's October!  But that changes tomorrow.  To celebrate, I will...review a horror movie!  Maybe!

Will Fu--Erm, Write For Food

This post has been a long time coming.  And I hate the fact that I feel like I need to write this, but that's where I am.  Years ago, I announced the debut of a donate button.  Look to your right.  Yep, that's the one.  I wouldn't normally disclose personal financial business, but it does seem apropos to reveal the number of donations the site has received in the interim, given the nature of this block of text.  Zero.  That's the number.  Mind you, I'm not fishing for pity.  I'm also not including holiday gifts.  Just talkin' 'bout donations.

I will probably create a Patreon account in the near future.  Personally, I was bewildered to find that a YouTuber I dig not only had a Patreon account, but actual patr(e)ons.  I mean no disrespect to the guy, but he literally sits in front of a webcam and bullshits about music.  He's getting paid for services rendered.  I know exactly how much effort I put into my reviews (hint: it's a lot...it's probably too much).  At press time, I'm doing it for free.  That's fine, and I'm definitely not special.  I would, however, like to see something that justifies the hard work outside of simple pride.

Please consider donating, even it's a dollar.  You have no idea how much I appreciate the support.  I don't want to exploit Wikipedia-sized reader guilt, but it wouldn't be exaggerating to say that the future of Random Reviews Inc. hinges on renumeration of some sort.  In other words, give me your money!

CANIPE LIVES!

I've known Bobby Canipe Jr. for the better part of a decade.  A decade?  Wait, that can't be right.  Let's say 5-7 years.  He directed the two films that I'm about to dissect, so I cannot claim sincere neutrality.  I'm a teensy bit biased, which is also why I'm dodging a traditional review.  No ratings.  Just incoherent balderdash.

If you know Bobby, you know that he's prone to slipping into a nostalgic stupor, aided by benzodiazepines and Mtn Dew Code Red.  I can relate.  My daydreams are typically set in the mid-90's where I can be found loitering at a mom 'n' pop video store.  And wouldn't you know it?  Bobby has just finished tweaking an early cut of Mom 'n' Pop: The Indie Video Store Boom of the 80s/90s, a documentary that focuses on...well, the indie video store boom of the 80's and 90's.  First things first.  I wouldn't be a cavalier grammar Nazi if I didn't implore that son of a bitch to fine-tune his title with a pair of apostrophes.  This may end our friendship.

Anyway, the production values are superb.  I love the way each interview is lit and framed.  The interviews themselves...wowzers!  I don't know how he wrangled his way into conversations with b-movie luminaries such as Lloyd Kaufman, Tim Ritter, and James Rolfe, but I believe that he should be open to selling their contact information.  Moreover, I appreciate the fact that he didn't allow nostalgia to cloud prudence or hamstring the truth.  No, video stores were not always beacons of bliss.  Late fees did suck.  Hindsight has been kind to Blockbuster, but in reality, they played an integral role in the cessation of the independent video store.

So that's one hearty recommendation from both myself and Robert Z'Dar.  I was also sent Intinction, a 25-minute short that, if I'm not mistaken, will be spliced into an upcoming anthology.  I wasn't exactly blown away by this gonzo take on cannibal nuns.  On the upside, cannibal nuns!  Yay!  On the downside, the audio levels are inconsistent and the acting is sketchy.  Sorry, man.  I must keep it real, as the kids say.  If it's any consolation, I caught Z'Dar pulling his pud throughout the entire ordeal.

Geek Out #157

Man, who hasn't seen this beauty?  Thanks to Mr. Lake for the inspiration.  Aww...

"Who said date rape isn't kind?"

I haven't done a discography review since The Corpse Files, but I've entertained the notion of mounting a partial discography (or deformography, if you prefer) write-up for Marilyn Manson.  Is that something you might be interested in reading?  Here's the caveat; I'm only going up to The Golden Age of Grotesque.  I can explain why in a future piece, probably after I bring this thing to fruition.  If I hear orgasmic moans coming out of the peanut gallery, I'll get to work in...hmm, a week-ish?

Halloween Ends

I feel like I begin every review by recusing myself and asking the reader to pardon my flighty, rattlepated state of mind.  I'm belaboring the point, but at the same time, my temperament is going to affect the way I perceive a film.  Halloween Ends might be the exception to the rule.  No matter the conditions under which you see this redundant sequel, it's going to come off as a turgid, dispiriting drag.  Now, I have purposefully avoided the opinions of friends and strangers alike.  So I'll ask you.  Is anyone stumping for this jumble of derisory ideas?  Has it been sanctified by a hallowed member of the clergy?  Are there any copies available at Blockbuster?

Halloween Ends is a depressing movie on many levels.  God, where do I even start?  Laurie Strode has been given a complete overhaul.  Well-intentioned, I'm sure, but her permutation from gun-toting model of reprisal to apron-assuming coquette (imagine Laurie crowing about her "fucking tits" in 1978) is a little hard to swallow.  I digress!  Everything is dampened when her granddaughter moons over a bespectacled bad boy, a real blackguard established as the town pariah.  Okay, this motherfucker.  I despised him from the second he appeared on screen.

Not for nothing, but this flick volunteers a smattering of dating tips.  Looking to get laid?  Try dropkicking a child down a spiral staircase.  You'll be swimming in snatch fur in no time!  Why screenwriter Paul Brad Logan decided to focus on Corey, the threadbare muff diver in question, is anyone's best guess.  A great deal of the script's energy - a finite source - is funneled into a fuckwit who exhibits zero energy.  It's impermissible.  Seriously, I don't get it.  Rohan Campbell gives an adequate performance, but cadberry Christ, was he instructed to act like twice-baked cheddar potato casserole?

If Corey's specious coronation (I don't know what else to call it) isn't offensive enough, poor Mikey has been reduced to...remember Maniac Cop 2?  You know how Matt Cordell transiently teams up with a bum until he finally dispatches the dude?  That's what happens here, only it takes Mikey way too long to ice his short-lived accomplice.  There is one other difference between the two slashers; Maniac Cop 2 kicks ass!  Halloween Ends is stymied by a listless pace, a surplus of dull characters, and goddamn Corey.  I had another paragraph in me, but I became so preoccupied with you-know-who, that it has escaped my clutches.

Well, I lied.  Here is a brand new paragraph.  Fuck Halloween Ends.

Album Cover of the Whatever

I'm not much for noise rock, but I have been known to jam some Unsane in my day.  This is the beautifully barbaric cover of their eponymous debut album.  Apparently, it was reissued, perhaps as recently as this month.  Check it out if you are so inclined.

Blood Capsule #129

HELLRAISER (2022)

Pinhead was the last slasher icon that had successfully counteracted the remake bug.  A most honorable stonewall, that.  But not even Hell priests are immune to Hollywood dogma.  If you existed for a past generation, you must exist for the next generation.  No exemptions!  I wasn't sure what to expect out of David Bruckner's Hellraiser, as the reviews have been as mixed as the contents of my colon.  My only question is, how is this any different from a Hellraiser sequel?  A morally disharmonious character (in this case, a struggling alcoholic named Riley) runs afoul of the Lament Configuration.  Cenobites dismantle her loved ones, she is faced with grievous questions, certain friends are revealed to be reprobates, etc...

It's a Hellraiser movie alright.  I guess I was hoping to learn more about our pierced villains.  Actually, I was hoping to learn more about anything.  2022's Hellraiser is business as usual, and it doesn't have the visual flair of the original.  Where are the bold colors?  Where is the consummate shadow play?  Where is the everloving panache?  Jamie Clayton makes an adequate Pinhead, but I don't think the team behind this film was striving to be described as "adequate" in any department.  Meh.

Corpsepaint by Numbers

This editorial has been stewing in my paunch for several months now.  There are a couple of reasons why I've delayed the publication of my little article (aww).  For one, I'm broaching a touchy, controversial topic, so it's imperative that I choose my words carefully.  Secondly, I was chucked out of commission by a profusion of health problems, and I didn't have a nuanced "thinkpiece" in me.  It's very possible that I have no business approaching the proverbial bench as it relates to contentious black metal bands.  Wait, strike that.  I'm just an asshole on the Internet; I can say anything!

Let's get specific.  Obviously, I'm not here to discuss the merits (or lack thereof) of traditional black metal staples such as Mayhem or Emperor.  They court their own controversy, but roasting churches and committing murder are dowdy, antiquated transgressions.  I mean, it's so 1993.  I'm covering a deleterious trend that is alive and well in the metal community at press time.  You are probably familiar with National Socialist black metal (NSBM is the preferred shorthand).  If not, these are easy groups to spot.  NSBM is a genus of extreme music that espouses fascism and white supremacy, among other lovely tenets.

99.8% of metalheads are cool motherfuckers.  For instance, you won't find many racists at your average metal festival.  But of course, there are rapscallions poised to flutter on the fringes of every fandom.  A quick tangent, if I may...I've developed a habit of watching "collection update" videos on YouTube.  These are folks with monstrous album collections, though I suspect that similar videos exist of nerds (no judgment) with Star Wars collections or whatever the fuck.  The appeal is...well, rad records.  You also get to know the people themselves.

"Dom," you whisper in your vampish chicken suit.  "What does that have to do with NSBM?"  I can tell you that I didn't give you the key to my apartment, so I don't know how you are standing in my bedroom.  Additionally, I can tell you that these metal scavengers are divided into two camps, those who buy NSBM merch and those who don't.  Note that none of them are racists.  Some metalheads can look past the troubling lyrics; some can't.  Where do I stand on the issue?  That was the impetus behind scribbling this essay of sorts.

I look at things on a case-by-case basis.  I don't believe in blanket generalizations.  Each situation is different, and the two bands I've decided to spotlight couldn't be any more different from each other (both musically and, um, socially).  Inquisition!  Originally based in Colombia, Inquisition peddles a unique brand of black metal that favors atmosphere over curt, unceremonious aggression.  I've been a fan for years.  At one point, we learned that Dagon (lead vocalist/songwriter) was found guilty of an unlawful display of sexually explicit material.  Basically, he had underage porn on his computer.  This information made me take a serious step back and reevaluate my interest in Inquisition.

Since then, I've read into the case and I'm not convinced that the guy is a pedophile.  Certainly, you can draw your own conclusions.  But the details are not so black-and-white.  There were Neo-Nazi allegations thrown at Dagon as well.  It seemed to be based on hearsay, but what do I know?  Personally, I feel okay listening to Inquisition, especially considering that the lion's share of the lyrics deal with Satan in space.  What about Burzum?  Here's a clown dick who straight-up admitted to killing someone in "self-defense."  Here again, I did the research and I'm not sure that his argument holds any water.

Those are just two examples out of way, way too many.  The kicker?  I have yet to confront NSBM that I dig on a purely artistic level.  You'll read gushing reviews for Arghoslent and Grand Belial's Key, to name but two relevant outfits, but I'm not hearing it.  And no, Burzum doesn't do it for me.  Am I missing something?  Because there is better stuff out there that wasn't composed by human excrement.  Hey, listen to what you want.  Don't give someone a tablespoon of codswallop for avoiding NSBM on sheer principle alone, though.  That would be silly.  You don't want to be silly, do you?

The Vortex Void of Inhumanity

Man, it has been a week.  I'm not articulate enough to sum it up in 4,007 words or less, but suffice to say, I haven't had the time or motivation to write comprehensible sentences for this, my illustrious website.  However, my mind has settled into a more commodious living space.  I'm planning on drumming up an opinion piece later today, as a matter of fact.  What does Mayhem have to do with anything?  Well, bookmark this baby and find out!