Album Cover of the Whatever

I know next to nothing about Disciples of Power, but cripes, look at that artwork!

Blood Capsule #152

THE SEVERED ARM (1973)

Earlier today, my gullet was met with a wicked case of heartburn.  I suspect that today's subject was the culprit.  For future reference, 70's exploitation may rankle your windpipe and turn the folds of your gorge into an aqueduct for molten lava to carry sediment from your stomach to your throat.  So, y'know...proceed with caution.  Actually, this is a wry slasher that acts as a dress rehearsal for filmmakers to try out a few tropes before they became tropes.  I'm always interested to see just how far back certain ideas go, at least in relation to mainstream horror.  The Severed Arm is an archetype for revenge-themed "body count" pictures a la Prom Night and I Know What You Did Last Summer.

A group of spelunkers wind up trapped in a decidedly dank cave.  Against their better judgment (and against the wishes of one unlucky bastard), they decide to eat the disembodied limb of whomever draws the shortest straw.  And wouldn't you know it?  As soon as the deed is done, they are rescued by a fashionably late search party.  Five years pass and our covey of would-be speleologists (google it, kids) is beginning to shrink, as someone is killing them off.  This is a straightforward, entertaining little flick.  Director Tom Alderman gets a surprising amount of mileage out of simple set-ups and spooktastic shadows.  Keep it hush-hush, but you might be able to find it for free on YouTube.  You didn't hear it from me, though.

Aftershocks

While you wait for my next review (thank you for your patience; I'm being lazy), I thought I'd mention that this past weekend's Forbidden Door PPV was worth the price of admission, if only for the IWGP United States Heavyweight bout between Kenny Omega and Will Ospreay.  Seriously, that match shook Toronto to its core.  In fact, someone should check to make sure the CN Tower is still standing.  It marked the first time in years that a concatenation of false finishes actually fulfilled their intended purpose and didn't just needlessly prolong the fight.  And that's another thing.  It felt like a damn fight.  Well done, boys.  You reminded me why I'm a pro-wrestling fan.

Am I engaging in hyperbole?  Maybe a little, but I'm a product of the modern age.  I encourage you to stream Forbidden Door so that you can form your own opinion.  I found the main event to be slightly disappointing.  Considering that The Rainmaker and The American Dragon were in the ring, expectations were perhaps unfair.  Still, a weak submission finish?  It deserved the non-reaction that it got.  I would be looking forward to Money in the Bank, but I cancelled my Peacock subscription not too long ago.  If Io Sky doesn't grab the briefcase, I riot.

Now Playing #5

The Posies - Frosting on the Beater

Here's a shocker: I don't always listen to Christ-melting black metal.  Sometimes, I listen to rib-cracking death metal.  And other times, I drown myself in a sea of dewy-eyed 90's rock nostalgia.  I can't help it.  I'll always be a grunge kid.  You would never know that The Posies hailed from Seattle from listening to their music, but they were in the area when neighboring groups were breaking into the mainstream.  While they didn't quite break themselves (though "Dream All Day" was a minor radio hit), they left a sugary impression on the scene.  I think this is what supercilious critics would call "power pop."  Whatever.  It sounds like rock 'n' roll to me.

This record is thronged with infectious earworms.  It's aural birthday cake, and I admit that I've eaten too much of it lately.  Standout cuts?  "Solar Sister," "Love Letter Boxes, "Burn & Shine," and "20 Questions."  It's all about those sweet, sweet harmonies.

Mournful Congregation - The Exuviae of Gods Part II

If Frosting brings birthday cake to mind, the new Mournful Congregation EP (their second in as many years) conjures up images of...funeral cobbler?  I'm groping for comparisons, but you really need to hear it for yourself.  Not that Exuviae subverts expectations.  If you have a taste for this stuff, you know what these Australian doomsters bring to the table.  Imagine, if you will, overwrought melodies (yes, that's a compliment), layered compositions, and acoustic guitar flourishes.  I might prefer Part II to its predecessor.  I've given it more spins, if that counts for anything.

As with Part I, the guys have reworked and re-recorded a song from their demo days ("Heads Bowed").  It actually starts the album, and if I'm being honest, I usually skip it.  It comes off as emaciated when it's followed by modern material.  That's just me, though.  Mournful Congregation remains my favorite funeral doom band by a wide margin.  Choice tracks?  Look, this thing runs for less than thirty minutes, so you might as well listen to all of it.

Rassle Inn #41

Well, we collided with Collision.  I don't actually have much to say other than the fact that Collision looks to be the show that Dynamite should have been.  The difference is felt on commentary.  I've been a fan of Kevin Kelly since his WWF days, and as for Nigel McGuinness, he plays his role well enough (though I still don't see a need for heel commentators in 2023).  Hopefully, Jim Ross will stage a classy exit from the business, as I don't think he's doing himself any favors these days.  His health doesn't support his position in the company.  But what do I know?

A couple of things I noticed...for the most part, the opening match kept the action in the ring.  It would have been easy to use "hardcore" balderdash as a crutch, and God knows we've seen too many ECW-style scrimmages on AEW television lately.  Also, the referees are given more authority in key situations.  That will only be beneficial in the long run.  Overall, Collision was a fairly straightforward pro-wrestling show.  I don't have any complaints.  It will be interesting to see how CM Punk will be used on subsequent episodes.  It's kind of incredible how the crowd got behind the other Chicago native last night.  Hold that thought; a paragraph break is imminent.  This could get messy.

I'm speaking of the spunky Skye Blue.  I realize that it's not uncommon for a hometown crowd to rally around one of their own, but has she even spoken two words on air yet?  Maybe do something with her while she has forward momentum on her side?  The rest of AEW's female roster is...well, it's lacking.  I'm holding out hope that Mercedes Mone will spring up on either Dynamite or Collision.  And before the thought gains any traction, DO NOT under any circumstances ratify a roster split.  There are already too many title belts.  Tony Khan reads this column, right?  As usual, I'm operating under the assumption that my words matter in a cosmic way.  Give me a call, T.K.  I have loads of ideas!

All the shaking hands, beepers and suntans...

I was going to type up a new edition of Rassle Inn, but I might as well wait until we see the much-ballyhooed Collision.  This...this should be something.  AEW needs a hit right now.  I can't believe I'm saying this, but WWE has been delivering the superior product as of late, and it's not even close.  Stay tuned!

PS-Can you identify the song I'm alluding to in the title of this post?  Don't overthink it.  A thousand brownie points for the correct guess.

Grandma

This is less of a review and more of a prerequisite.  If you call yourself a member of the horror community, and you support the underground, you owe it to yourself to check out Grandma.  Disclaimer!  The director - a fine fellow by the name of Bobby Canipe Jr. - is a friend of mine.  I won't pretend to be impartial.  In fact, I'm definitely biased, but that's only because Bobby is an awesome guy.  By association, Grandma is an awesome throwback to shot-on-video horror from the 80's/90's.  If you like your gore thick and gelatinous, this is the flick for you.

Recommended to fans of Video Violence, Cannibal Campout and Killing Spree.  Spread the word!

Random Match Alert

I might start posting these more often.  Please enjoy Taka Michinoku versus Papi Chulo (pre-WWF Essa Rios sans Lita).

Blood Capsule #151

THE FACE AT THE WINDOW (1939)

Stand clear; I'm about to use the word "unsung" several times in successive order.  You know how I get with key words.  I'm bound to pull a muscle one of these days trying to wield a particularly pernicious verb or an acrimonious adjective.  In any event, this unsung melodrama stars unsung scream king Tod Slaughter as a lecherous booster of sorts.  He offers to deposit a lump sum of gold into a struggling bank with one startling caveat - he wishes to bed the branch manager's daughter.  That would be stressful enough, but there is also a serial killer dispatching innocent civilians, seemingly at random.  Is there any connective tissue between this rash of murders and Slaughter's brazen courting of a naïve ingenue?  More to the point, if Helmet released "Unsung" to radio today, would it become a hit?  Yes and no.

I wasn't familiar with Face, but it's easy to see how a Victorian suspense piece could fall through the cracks in an era replete with major studio horror hallmarks.  It's not exactly top-lined by name actors, and I'm led to believe that it was a low-budget production.  Even so, it held my interest for a solid hour.  There is no dip in quality beyond that point; the film only runs for 65 minutes.  Technically, it counts as a monster romp, as our heavy is hypothesized to be a werewolf.  I mean, he isn't, but still.  Slaughter chews the scenery as the iniquitous Chevalier Lucio del Gardo.  He is definitely the best thing about The Face at the Window.  I enjoyed the twisty storyline, the shadowy sets, and Page Hamilton's riffs.  Seriously, I can't believe that "Unsung" became a staple in spite of a fickle mainstream audience.  Go figure.

Robert Z'Dar says, "Tell Dom to grow up.  It's not the 90's anymore."  Dom says, "Ouch, Robert.  Ouch."

Io

This is just a reminder that an Io/Asuka feud has officially been teased on Smackdown.  It's kind of a big deal.  This is something I've wanted to see ever since Io first stepped on American soil.  As expected, she is gaining a groundswell of fan support.  It wouldn't surprise me if she turned babyface in the not-so-distant future.  Anyway, that's all I wanted to say.  I'll be back later in the week with a review of...I don't know, a ridiculous movie?

Blood Capsule #150

POISON FOR THE FAIRIES (1986)

There is a scene in this Mexican shocker where a little girl listens intently as her nanny spins a yarn about witches and fairies.  Her stoic, yet beguiled reaction is eerie, and while I'm at it, hats off to the young actress who plays the calculating Veronica.  If the rest of the film sustained that level of spectral calm, we would have a 5-Z'Dar classic on our hands.  As it's currently drafted, it's still pretty damn good.  The plot follows two children bent on simple mischief, but they are spellbound by stories of witches to the extent that they potter around with the dark arts themselves.  There's no mistaking it; this is coming-of-age material.  The hook, however, lies in the film's cabalistic underbelly.  The atmosphere is such that at any given point, even during the mellow exposition, you can sense evil lurking just off-camera.

A recent addition to Shudder's ever-expansive library, Poison for the Fairies is the right call for a lonely spring night.  Or is it summer already?  I can't be expected to keep track of the seasons AND watch horror movies obsessively.  It's one or the other.  Earlier, I intimated that Poison misses the mark.  And it does, but only slightly.  The pace perambulates off the beaten path, and while I like the concept of concealing the faces of the grown-up cast members, I couldn't help but feel that the narrative needed a more prominent adult character to balance things out.  Focusing on kids minimizes the stakes a bit.  Maybe it's just me.  I urge you to reach your own conclusion.  Stream it today.  Or track down a physical copy, you good-for-nothing millennial.

Album Cover of the Whatever

Yes, another one.  I normally wouldn't post album covers back-to-back, but I wanted to share my latest discovery with the rest of the class.  Female-fronted death thrashers Dracena bring the artillery with 2017's Cursed to the Night.  I'm digging the Giger-esque artwork.  It's a scientific fact that bat wings make any creature more appealing, though boobs help.  Boobs always help, don't they?