Flaw - THROUGH THE EYES

Remember nu-metal?  I sure do.  Bands such as Korn, Sevendust and Nothingface acted as my metal training wheels.  At 15 years of age, I wasn't ready for extreme brutality, but nu-metal was just heavy enough to make me feel like a badass.  I can vividly recall dawdling the halls of high school while listening to Around the Fur via headphones.  I assured myself that my constitutional sense of poise was unmistakably macroscopic to those around me.  They knew I was cool.  Oh, yes.  They knew.  Some bands were more respected than others by the underground elite.  Actually, Deftones are an effulgent example of a DJ-equipped group who escaped the late 90's/early 00's with their credibility in tact.  Now that I think about it, Sevendust were also able to weather fitful trends.

Flaw had no such luck.  Timing is everything in the music industry, and this Kentucky quartet arrived late on the scene.  Their major label debut, Through the Eyes, didn't disembark until 2001.  I believe that they enjoyed minor success.  It's hard to say.  I can confirm that by the time Flaw issued a follow-up three years later, metalcore had domiciliated itself as the latest craze amongst eyeliner-caked youngsters.  Well, now it's 2013.  The underground elite loathes metalcore.  Personally, I can't stomach the shit that kids call metal these days, and I find that I'm getting nostalgic for nu-metal.  I was sick of it when the 21st century came calling, but compared to modern metal trends?  I must say, even a band as generic as Flaw doesn't offend my ears.

Of course, "generic" isn't necessarily a jaundiced adjective.  This record doesn't bring anything fresh to the table, but it does what it does remarkably well.  Vocalist Chris Volz is the main attraction.  The guy can sing.  As a matter of fact, he chooses to sing over the bulk of the music.  There isn't a great deal of solicitous screaming on Through the Eyes, but the few instances of angsty yelping are well-placed.  Volz's warm, clean tone is immediately euphonic.  You'll catch him repeating melodies here and there, but he redeems himself soon after with a catchy chorus or a killer harmony.  The guitars are typically detuned.  Shocking, I know.  The riffs won't jerk you off, but they're pleasantly chunky.

One of the aspects of nu-metal that I miss is the full-bodied production style.  Modern metal production fucking sucks, plain and simple.  Through the Eyes has dynamics.  The mix is organic, and the bass bleeds into its fellow instruments.  The vocals never compete with the drums or vice-versa.  It didn't surprise me to learn that this album was produced by David Bottrill.  He worked on Tool's Aenima and Silverchair's Diorama, two of my favorite long players of all ever.  He probably encouraged the dudes in Flaw to campaign for the loose, asymmetrical arrangements that pop up from time to time.

I dig Through the Eyes.  It may appeal to folks who never cared for nu-metal to begin with.  I would advise sampling "Only the Strong," "Get Up Again" and "Reliance."  My enthusiastic rating may trouble readers who only ingest death metal, but that's their problem.  Variety is the spice of life, no?

A semi-important video...

If you don't feel like watching a video, basically, I'm taking a short break from the site.  I go into some detail, but you'd have to watch the video for that.

...

Ugh.  I'm fucking sick.  I'm not apologizing, though.  Fuck you.  Should be back in business tomorrow.






Sorry.

Happy Birthday, Tim Curry!

Music review tomorrow.  Y'know, I should have posted a picture of Tim Curry, but perhaps it's best to keep you people on your toes.  Don't do drugs.

Matches That Time Forgot #53

Gee, I can't believe that time forgot this epic encounter between Gillberg and Luna Vachon.  This was early 1999, so the Monday Night Wars were in full swing.  The competition wasn't friendly.  WCW and WWF took shots at each other at every opportunity on live television.  One of Vince's more memorable shellings of mounted offense was Gillberg, a creation that mocked WCW's top babyface.  I don't know for sure, but this may have been Gillberg's debut match.  Flanked by the J.O.B. Squad (with sparklers in tow), seasoned jobb...er, enhancement talent Duane Gill gives a spirited performance as the not-so-hulking beast of a "man."  I loved Michael Cole's dig at WCW's practice of piping in phony chants.

Man, it's a trip realizing that Cole commentated during the Attitude Era.  Anyway, Luna does her best, but it had to be disheartening knowing that she would have to do a job for Sable at the Rumble.  What a fucking joke.  This is kinda-sorta off-topic, but Luna Vachon deserves a spot in the WWE Hall of Fame.  She was an underrated worker, and she was robbed of her lifelong dream to be a champion under the McMahon incumbency.  Sable was a cunt who didn't respect the business, and I guaran-goddamn-tee you that she will be inducted before Luna.  Of course, it helps that she's married to Brock Lesnar.  Sorry, I had to get that off my chest.  GILLBERG!  GILLBERG!  GILLBERG!

Deatherman

Today, I'm appealing to a niche market.  I'm appealing to...the SOV crowd.  If you don't know what "SOV" stands for, then clearly, you are not a part of said crowd.  This stuff is an acquired taste.  Forgive me if I repeat something from a past review.  It's just that a proper inspection of a film like 2012's Deatherman needs an avuncular advisory, an admonitory disclaimer of sorts.  You either get it or you don't.  That may sound pompous, but it's true.  Before I dive into the plot details, let me commend writer/director Bob Keller for espousing a time-honored methodology.  He eschewed digital video in favor of a trusty camcorder.  Atta boy!  If you're going to produce a throwback to cult classics such as Sledgehammer and Video Violence, do it right.

Deatherman centers around Dalton Law, star meteorologist at Channel 13 news.  An intern invites him over for drinks, so naturally, he assumes that she wants to ride his lightning bolt (his turn of phrase, not mine).  As it turns out, she is angling to be his successor.  Ordinarily, she is level-headed, but wouldn't you know it?  She forgot to take her pills!  Long story short, the intern kills the weatherman and buries him in the middle of the woods.  Unfortunately for our would-be haruspex of five-day forecasts, Dalton is resurrected by a spell of acid rain.  That covers the first half hour, give or take.  Deatherman clocks in at a whopping 55 minutes.  So...yeah.  It goes without saying that this no-budget creepshow has its fair share of infirmities.

Considering the medium, I allowed for certain hindrances.  I expected the acting to be shaky, and I endured the substandard audio.  The only foible I can't discount is the excessive padding.  Select scenes drag on for several eternities.  Perhaps Deatherman would have worked better as a short (a really short short).  Despite the leaden pace, this was an enjoyable watch.  Most campy horror comedies fail to make me laugh, but Keller has a bizarre sense of humor that pairs well with my off-kilter ulnar nerve.  Yep, you'll have to Google that one.  Don't give me grief.  I appreciated the absurdist gags, especially the ambulatory stuffed animal.  Where the fuck did that come from?

A lot of the jokes are "left field" material.  That's cool with me, which isn't to say that every punch connects.  Elsewhere, the special effects aren't particularly special.  The gore is telegraphed, although I did smirk at the umbrella impalement.  It's obvious that the cast and crew had fun piecing Deatherman together.  More often than not, the heart of a shot-on-video oddity is what determines its replay value.  Keller's pet project has heart in spades.  For those interested, you can purchase Deatherman on VHS from Press Eject Video at THIS location.  The tape is red!  Colors are pretty.  By the way, I wasn't cajoled into advertising this flick.  I try to support the underground where I can.  You should, too.

Shitty Webcam Site Update Movie Review I Have Heartburn #33

New video.  Sorry.

Album Cover of the Week

Blood Capsule #31

STONES OF DEATH (1988)

I like being pleasantly surprised.  On the surface, Stones of Death bears all of the trappings of throwaway discount bin detritus.  The plot is a hodgepodge of 80's horror clichés, but smart writing and sinister imagery keep this creepy catamaran from capsizing (ugh, I sincerely apologize for that sentence).  Get a load of the synopsis...a group of teenagers begin having the same nightmare.  They each wake to find a stone on their pillow.  Sadly for our expendable youths, the stone signifies their death.  It has something to do with an aboriginal curse, and of course, the lead chickadee happens to reside on an ancient burial ground.  Basically, it's A Poltergeist on Elm Street.  I'll admit that the stones are a novel touch, but they're just moppets to machinate the narrative.

The damsel in distress seeks out the help of a local shaman.  You knew there had to be a local shaman.  As prescriptive as Stones sounds, it's deliriously entertaining.  I had fun, though I can't speak for the ten other Americans who have seen it.  Oh, right.  I neglected to mention that this is an Australian picture.  I'm embarrassed to reveal that I'm not particularly well-versed in Ozploitation, but that's a problem I shall soon rectify.  Anyway, believable characters anchor Stones of Death.  They actually come across as real people.  Writer Ian Coughlan and director James Bogle could have done more with the puny ending, but at the end of the day, I wouldn't hesitate to recommend this fright flick from down under.  That's my critic quote.

Geek Out #83

I really, really want to see this.

Carnage > Venom

I feel like I should address the recent dearth of comic book/magazine reviews.  Simply put, I haven't had the urge to write them.  I do plan on revisiting reading material, but I can't tell you when.  So, um, here's a badass picture of Carnage, one of my favorite Marvel characters.

Deathmoon

I was hoping to close out my werewolf wingding with a bang.  It looks like I'll have to settle for a whimper.  Not that I expected 1978's Deathmoon to live up to its gnarly cover art (all that's missing is a holographic image and an A-Pix logo).  This isn't the worst werewolf flick that I've ever seen.  It's not even the worst werewolf flick that I've seen in the past month, but it leaves much to be desired.  The workaday storyline is about as complex as the mating habits of the North American sand fly.  To be honest, I need to brush up on my trivia where the order Diptera is concerned.  What, you've never reflected on an insect's mating habits?  I can't control how I feel when I see two aphids copulating.

"Dat mesothorax!" I screamed.  Did the other tourists on the trail notice that I was perfervid in the throes of lechery?  Whoa, sorry.  I think I've had one too many bottles of Sprite.  That doesn't change the fact that Deathmoon is run-of-the-mill foodstuff for lenient cinephiles.  It will do fine if you simply want to watch...something.  I was doubly disappointed because this old-fashioned creature feature was produced for the tube.  A made-for-TV horror film from the 70's?  Count me in!  Robert Foxworth plays Jason, a tightly wound businessman who takes a vacation on the advice of his psychiatrist.  He skedaddles to Hawaii, the birthplace of his ancestors.  Unbeknownst to our soon-to-be furball friend, his genealogy has been stricken with a voodoo curse.

Apart from a couple of useless subplots, Deathmoon is barebones.  The stalk sequences are there to separate twinklings of character development.  Thankfully, the cast is up to the challenge.  I didn't mind Jason, but I did mind the static shots of him sunbathing/flirting/drinking.  The script spends an inordinate amount of time on his cocksure dalliance with a blonde stranger.  I'd give the whole charade a zero on the "chemistry" meter.  There is also a ridiculous bit involving a petty hotel thief that goes absolutely fucking nowhere.  How Deathmoon reaches 90 minutes is beyond me.  And yet, I wasn't completely disinterested in the proceedings.  Why?

Hell if I know!  I was curious to find out how Jason planned on curing his lycanthropy.  As it turns out (don't worry; this isn't a sizeable spoiler), he ignores his pesky problem and enjoys a romantic getaway.  Okey-dokey?  On the monster front, we are treated to Universal-style make-up effects, including a lap-dissolve.  I approve.  Obviously, there isn't a drop of blood.  I can accept the lack of gore, though.  I cannot accept the innumerable lapses in logic.  A full moon each night over the span of a week?  Did the earth stop rotating?  I mean, what the shit?  I'm not comfortable recommending Deathmoon to genre die-hards.  While I enjoyed it to a certain extent, it doesn't exactly stand out in a hairy crowd.  Robert Z'Dar says, "Eh."

Shitty Webcam Site Update Movie Review I Have Heartburn #32

Lull.

Well, it's official; The People's Elbow is more devastating than The Tombstone...

Damien Sandow watches from the sidelines and ponders, "I was scrapped for this?"

It wasn't the worst Wrestlemania that I've seen, but where was the electricity?  Where were those moments I keep hearing about?  The first five minutes of Punk/Undertaker were truly magical, thanks in no small part to the obstreperous New Jersey crowd.  But the rest of the PPV?  Flat as a pancake...with small breasts.

Now, a swerve should never take place just for the sake of having a swerve, but the opening bout between The Shield and Beeker/The Sedated Rattlesnake/Midcard Andre desperately needed a Randy Orton heel turn.  At one point, this guy was poised to outpace John Cena as WWE's brightest superstar.  Where does he go from here?  His character is dwelling in a customary rut, and he hasn't main-evented a meaningful event in eons.  The Big Show spurning a babyface is no big deal because that's what he has been doing for the better part of a year.  At least the right team won.

Can someone explain to me why Ryback was pinned clean?  He was already wavering in the eyes of marks, and this could/should have been his launching pad.  Is a post-match feat of strength supposed to expunge an embarrassing loss from his record?  Speaking of missed opportunities, Dolph Ziggler returned to his hotel room with absolutely nothing.  I'm fine with Team Hell No retaining the tag titles, but when is the McMahon/Helmsley cartel going to pull the trigger on a future headliner?  I swear, WWE is beginning to resemble latter day WCW.

Fandango's debut was surprisingly sloppy.  The match didn't showcase enough of his offense, and the finish was botched.  It goes without saying that Punk/'Taker was a rarefied saving grace.  Still, it wasn't as captivating as the last four "streak" contests, which isn't easy for me to type.  I'm hoping that The Phenom makes a retirement speech tonight on Raw, if I'm being honest.  This will sound batshit crazy, but HHH/Brock was my favorite match on the card.  It was fittingly brutal.  Rock/Cena was...a match.  I can't believe it lasted over 30 minutes.  Oh, and the pre-show Intercontinental strap defense was entirely too short.

Meh.

PS - Paul Heyman is the modern day equivalent of Bobby Heenan.
PS2 - Bob Backlund fucking rules.

No Tons of Funk???

This WM really needed a heel turn.  Write-up tomorrow!

Album Cover of the Week

It's been a slow couple of days, and I apologize for that.  I haven't been particularly enthused (I'm pretty sure it's an offshoot of stress).  I can't promise a glorious update tomorrow, but look out for my Wrestlemania recap on Monday.

It's late...

I have nothing to say today, so here's a wicked Dog Soldiers figure I found.  I'm dedicating this post to a lovely lady who lives down under.  Thanks for the inspiration, Bea!

Project: Metalbeast

This has been an enjoyable ride so far, hasn't it?  We've encountered werewolf cops and even a Disney-flavored lycanthropic quickie.  Brace yourself for another quirky spin on a platitudinous bestiary.  1995's Project: Metalbeast presents a werewolf in shining armor.  That's right; our lead critter has bulletproof skin.  The storyline is fairly convoluted, so bear with me.  The year?  1975.  Special agents are dispatched to Hungary to fetch vials of werewolf blood.  Of course, that's easier said than done, and one man is serrated asunder.  The surviving envoy returns to America, only to inject himself with the full moon juice against the orders of his superiors.

I'm sure you're wondering why these guys were sent on a suicide mission to collect werewolf plasma.  If you're any kind of b-movie pundit, you should be able to guess the answer.  You see, the government is trying to build an unstoppable killing machine.  A super soldier!  How did they find out that werewolves existed?  If you're any kind of b-movie pundit, you know...it's never addressed.  Okay, fast-forward twenty years.  Scientists are toiling away over the ontogeny of an artificial skin called bio-ferron.  It's metal-based, and it may be a boon to cancer patients and burn victims.  Enter the wily, Machiavellian Lieutenant (or General or Commander or something) Miller.  He kept his secret agent werewolf on ice, and he plots to wrap the monster in bio-ferron, thus rendering it impervious to silver bullets.

Naturally, he lies to the scientists.  He tells them to test the skin on cadavers.  And they do, but they don't know that one of the stiffs is a dormant colossus.  First and foremost, I must comment on the logistics of Miller's plan.  This is an extraordinarily bad fucking idea.  "Hey, let's wake up a werewolf and tweak him until we can no longer control him!"  I mean, c'mon.  A bulletproof werewolf???  On the upside, we are treated to a badass creature replete with a badass creature suit.  Kane Hodder plays the "metalbeast," though it takes awhile for the titular baddie to start kicking ass.  Thankfully, we get plenty of traditional (non-metal) werewolf carnage in the first act.

The special effects are superlative.  If Project: Metalbeast were shot any later than 1995, the werewolf would have looked like a cartoon.  Man, I'm wearing out the word "werewolf."  Anyway, this is an entertaining film with an interesting cast.  Barry Bostwick is sufficiently repugnant as Miller.  Kim Delaney turns in an adequate performance, but semen on a graham cracker, her character is implausibly insipid.  None of the players are developed.  Don't get me wrong; I wasn't expecting esoteric depth, but almost everyone in front of the camera is interchangeable.

The scientists' reaction to a werewolf transformation is hysterical for all of the wrong reasons.  They are barely fazed.  Maybe it's just me, but my mouth would be drooping agape if I were within pawing distance of a goddamn werewolf.  Other annoyances?  Eh, the gore isn't particularly thick.  Mercifully, there are a couple of messy moments that will mollify hemoglobin freaks.  I was slightly disappointed in Project: Metalbeast, but it's certainly fun.  Writer/director Alessandro De Gaetano could have pulled more out of the premise, in my opinion.  If you run across a copy, then by all means, pick it up.  Robert Z'Dar says, "I sought out the role of the metalbeast, but the producers balked at my demands.  Ten zillion dollars and requisite full-frontal nudity are reasonable requests, if you ask me."

Geek Out #82

Remember Mr. Boogedy and Bride of Boogedy?  If not, they were presented as Disney Sunday "movies" in the mid-80's.  I put "movies" in quotation marks because each chapter clocked in at 45 minutes.  They offer a sensational cloudburst of nostalgia for geeks my age, but appallingly, neither bundle of Boogedy has made the transition to DVD.  That really fucking sucks for two reasons.  A) Well, they rule.  B) Only Bride was released on home video, and it's a bit of a white elephant.

I'm in the process of procuring bootlegs, but if you're lazy (I'm not judging you, trust me), the Boogedy double feature can be accessed on YouTube.  This is a clip from the original featuring a dancing mummy.  So enjoy.

Shitty Webcam Site Update Movie Review I Have Heartburn #31

WM29 and a brief site update.

Blood Capsule #30

FULL ECLIPSE (1993)

I'm genuinely shocked that I've never heard anyone utter a single word about this flick.  What we have here is an action/horror hybrid with polished production values, a copacetic villain and a script that repackages mildewed clichés in unique ways.  Those aren't the traits that will sell Full Eclipse to surfeited horror hounds, though.  No, its most advantageous feature is its synopsis.  The plot revolves around...wait for it...werewolf cops!  And the main character is played by...Mario Van Peebles!  Why hasn't this monster mash become a cult classic?  It's not seamless by any stretch of the imagination, but I got a hearty kick out of it.  Here, lycanthropes are detonated by a serum, a "super vaccine."

I hesitate to go into further details.  You just need to see Full Eclipse for yourself.  As fresh as the premise happens to be, director Anthony Hickox does indulge in a plurality of hokey "macho movie" tropes.  Mario's partner dies in the opening scene mere minutes after announcing that he's planning to retire and settle down.  Oh, snap!  We're also treated to plenty of slow-motion explosions.  Personally, I didn't mind the discernible cheese.  Recommended to fans of Lethal Weapon and Dog Soldiers.  Yeah.  Seriously, why is this wonderful thing so obscure?  It even stars Paula Marshall, for Max Headroom's sake.  Oh, Paula.  You might be the hottest werewolf I've ever ogled.

Album Cover of the Week

I can't believe this cover hasn't been featured yet.  For the record (pun intended), this is one of the few Anthrax albums that I dig.  I can't pinpoint why exactly, but I've never been a big fan.

Matches That Time Forgot #52

I found a real beauty.  It's a match from USWA circa 1993.  We have Scotty Flamingo (a.k.a. Raven...ha!) versus Jeff Jarrett.  JJ was only a few months away from being called up to the majors.  It's strange seeing him work as a babyface, although it's not as surreal/sad/funny as Jerry Lawler sticking with traditional Memphis booking in 1993.  This whole segment has "1981" written all over it.  Apparently, Flamingo and Brian Christopher had just stolen the tag titles from The Moondogs.  There was a title switch every two weeks, so I'm not sure why the crowd is exacerbated.  Oh, right...they are marks.  Redneck marks.  The horror, the horror!

The match itself is way too short.  You might even say that it's laconic or diminutive in stature (y'know, if you were a dick).  Lawler's offspring interferes, and The Moondogs interfere with said interference.  The actual wrestling is respectable enough.  As much as it pains me to admit such an apostasy, I can't deny Jarrett's in-ring skills.   You don't know how hard that was for me to type.  FACTOID: Men on a Mission originated in USWA where they were dubbed The Harlem Knights.

Wishlist FIXED!

Okay, THIS link should take you to my wishlist.  Let me know if it doesn't.

Wishlist

Want to support the site, but don't know how?  Maybe you feel weird sending PayPal donations?  That's perfectly understandable.  I need money all the same.  I'm not able to work a "real" job at the moment, so I'd love to make a few bucks writing about wrestling and b-movies.  Unfortunately, that may never happen.  "So how can I support Random Reviews Incorporated outside of donations?"  Easy!  Buy me something cool on my Amazon Wishlist.  I might just return the favor when you're least expecting it.

Of course, simple donations are always welcome.  Wink, wink!

The Werewolf Reborn!

I'm stumped.  What remarks can I make when a film is so...unremarkable?  In the late 90's, Charles Band created a subdivision of Full Moon features called Pulsepounders.  These were silly, comestible genre dishes custom-built for prepubescent geeks.  Filmonsters! (that has to be the most superfluous exclamation point in the history of mankind) was a quasi-division of Pulsepounders developed as an homage to Universal classics.  Only two projects came to fruition, both written by Benjamin Carr.  As you can imagine, The Werewolf Reborn! (that has to be the second most superfluous exclamation point in the history of mankind) is a housetrained, attenuated update of 1941's The Wolf Man.

I've said this before, but it bears repeating.  It's incredibly hard to review a mediocre subject.  And boy howdy, The Werewolf Reborn! is mediocre.  It's so mediocre, that it barely exists.  Conversely, I don't regret watching it.  Certain aspects of the production appealed to my folksy, jejune sensibilities.  I am a horror junkie divided.  This calls for a list of pros and a list of cons...yay?  Congratulations, Mr. Band.  You have produced a werewolf flick too tempestuously prosaic to be described by coherent paragraphs.  In consequence, you have broken journalism.  Do you have any idea how many filmmakers would love to silence critics?  I'm not giving you the silent treatment, though.  No, that would be the mature thing to do.

PROS

~ If you'll notice, I have yet to blame director Jeff Burr for The Werewolf Reborn!'s general drabness.  There was only so much he could do to salvage the script.  I've always championed his efforts behind the camera (check out 1990's The Stepfather II or 1995's Night of the Scarecrow), and he manages to pepsinate this cheapie with eye-catching visuals.  The beautiful scenery doesn't hurt.

~ I'm not naive.  I understand that the ground-level budget probably played a hand in the decision to opt for "old school" make-up effects, but I don't care.  Whatever the impetus, I dug the basic look of the werewolf.  The year was 1999, so CGI was definitely available.  You have to applaud traditional tricks of the trade.

~ Surprisingly, the acting is focused.  The trailer stresses the fact that our heroine (Ashley Lyn Cafagna) was a principal player on Saved by the Bell: The New Class.  Alright.  Fucking Uncle Leo from Seinfeld plays a hard-boiled detective, and he actually kicks ass.  The rest of the cast is practically faceless.  Man, Uncle Leo should have played the werewolf.

CONS

~ The promotional material for the Filmonsters! series compares each bloodcurdling convoy to an episode of Goosebumps.  That's accurate, mainly because The Werewolf Reborn! runs for 45 minutes.  You read that right.  This fucker ends quicker than a lubricious romp with...well, Uncle Leo.  I didn't have enough time to become emotionally invested in the characters or the storyline.  Speaking of which, the "plot" follows a teenaged girl sent to live with her uncle.  Her uncle is a werewolf.  The end.

~ This con is fairly obvious.  I almost feel redundant typing it, but we don't get to see an ounce of violence.  Yeah, it's targeted at fledgling sprouts.  I wasn't expecting wall-to-wall gore, but c'mon!  Do we raise our children under the assumption that monsters are content to leave tiny, inconspicuous scars?  I know I won't, provided that I multiply.  My kid will be scared shitless on a daily basis.  "Clean your room, son.  Remember, werewolves are real, and they will fucking mangle you."

Wow.  I'm honestly impressed that I was able to write more than three sentences about The Werewolf Reborn!.  Oh, the pros/cons portion of today's program is officially over.  I was going to italicize it to avoid confusion.  Maybe I should.  Eh, fuck it.

Shitty Webcam Site Update Movie Review I Have Heartburn #30

I go on a tangential tangent.

Lukewarm Coke for only $3???

You haven't lived until Jake "The Snake" Roberts has told you to go fuck yourself.  Of course, he was just goofing around, but still...that was awesome.  So yeah, Jake was one of the celebrities I met at the second annual Mad Monster Party, a horror convention located in Charlotte, North Carolina.  Ardent fans of the site might recall that I also attended last year.  It was my first real convention experience, and I wondered if a repeat visit would stupefy me in the same quixotic fashion.  I knew what to expect, but I was still taken aback by the sight of certain "stars."  Catching a glimpse of Gary Busey was quite surreal.

Going in, I had a game plan.  I wanted to focus more on autographs, although I did accost the VHSPS booth.  Bear in mind, funds were limited (aren't they always?), so I netted three autographs.  First, I chatted up pet psychic Amelia Kinkade.  Most of you know her as Angela from the Night of the Demons trilogy.  Oh, who am I kidding?  Everyone knows her as Angie, and no one at the con gave a custardfuck about her loopy predisposition for animal ESP.  By the way, cosmetic surgery has rendered her unrecognizable.  Great rack, though.

Amelia was sitting next to Linnea Quigley, the main attraction (as far as I'm concerned).  She was super friendly, and she made sure to give each fan her undivided attention.  Class act.  While we were waiting in her line, Sgt. motherfucking Slaughter brushed by our sleeves.  Christ, that turned my brain inside out.  I should note that "we" includes my pal, Paul the Intrepid Spider Wrangler.  At any rate, Jake Roberts yelled at us and sent us on our merry way with a wink.  I didn't realize it until later, but he gave me his signature free of charge (along with a sweet DVD, also signed).  He is expeditiously ascending to the top of my list of all-time favorite wrasslers.

Random nuggets separated by letters...GO!  A) I spotted Kirk Hammett gallivanting about in the dealer room with his security guard.  I shudder to think how many bags of cool memorabilia he took home that night.  B)  I came close to working up the courage to say something (something artlessly nerdy, no doubt) to Danny Glover, but I feel weird approaching a guest if I have no intention of handing him/her money.  "I'm a big fan, but I'm not that big of a fan."  C) Cerina Vincent waved at me and smiled.  Is a courtship in order?  Yes.  I'm positive.  D) Seriously, room temperature soda for three bucks???

I wasn't able to stay as long as I would have liked, but I covered a lot of ground.  In terms of merchandise, I picked up a rad Frankenstein Meets the Wolf Man t-shirt.  I didn't really collect much swag, what with cash being a finite resource.  But I had a blast, and if you live in the Carolinas, you need to show up next year.  Here are a handful of still photographs...
 

Critter photo bomb!

THE MAN.  Well, a lifelike replica of THE MAN.

An original.  He's not cool or sexy; he's an introverted insect, and he wants your blood.

His name is Bruce (yes, I'm posting this image twice).

Tits Amelia tits Kinkade tits.

Linnea!

Holy shit, I'm tired...

Convention write-up tomorrow.  Here's a teaser.

Album Cover of the Week

Floodgate - PENALTY

I'm a huge proponent of the New Orleans scene.  Not that I'm a music expert or anything.  I don't have my finger on the pulse of modern day "NOLA metal," but I dig every band that crawled out of those quaggy swamps.  The 90's, in particular, saw the unswerving expulsion of one killer record after another.  I'm talking about the exploits of Crowbar, Down, Corrosion of Conformity, Acid Bath, Soilent Green, Graveyard Rodeo and others I'm forgetting.  All of these outfits share a decidedly Southern predilection for gut-level, down-tempo grooves, yet they each forged their own unique identity.  Duck!  It's a paragraph break!

Floodgate was an obscure group from this very "movement," and I don't blame you if you've never heard of them.  They stonewalled my homing device (or sonar tracking system, if you prefer) for years.  Most metalheads compare this album to Down's 1995 debut.  There are several similarities between NOLA and 1996's Penalty, I grant you.  For starters, we have a thrash icon on vocals.  Kyle Thomas of Exhorder fame handles guitar/throat duties.  However, this isn't the rancorous, carcinogenic assemblage of speedy head-stompers that fans were expecting.  Like Down, Floodgate specializes in sludge-quilted hard rock.

Sludge-quilted...if Swamp Thing were an interior decorator, he might...ugh, nevermind.  There are moments where Kyle sounds like Philip H. Anselmo.  He almost comes across as an amalgamation of the former Pantera figurehead and John Bush.  Musically, I hear a scintilla of Trouble.  Irrevocably, I keep going back to Down when I reach for gustatory parallels.  "Through My Days Into My Nights" is Penalty's answer to "Lifer."  Likewise, "Whole" brings "Jail" to mind.  I don't want to insinuate that this is a copycat record, though.  You could call them companion pieces, and I doubt that it would offend the band members.

But it doesn't really matter.  The question is, does Penalty deliver the goods?  "Yes," I said.  The riffs are heavy, the hooks are catchy and on the whole, this set has serious replay value.  I bought it on the same day as Suffocation's Pinnacle of Bedlam (a paltry disappointment, I'm afraid), and this is the CD that has hogged my stereo.  I'm constantly craving rock with meat on its bones.  I can't turn to the radio, but Floodgate fits the bill.  It's not groundbreaking.  If I'm being honest, a couple of tracks rub me the wrong way.  "Feel You Burn" and "Black With Sin" flitter too close to stoner territory for my liking, but hey, I'll live.  If you fancy this style as much as I do, give Penalty a whirl.  It's better than whatever you listen to, loser.

Cherry Crush

If you've never tried Cherry Crush (one of the more elusive Crush flavors), you should.  It's divine.  Anyhow, I'll be posting a music review tomorrow.  The werewolf fuck-a-dilly cock-a-thon will continue either Sunday or Monday.  Until then, leave me alone.

Geek Out #81

I loved watching shows like this as a wee lad.  Sure, I knew it was bullshit, but it was cool bullshit.  Isn't that the appeal of cryptozoology?

The Legend of the Wolf Woman

My friend and I have always wanted to make b-movies that hop from one subgenre to another with little to no warning.  I'll give you an example; how about a werewolf rape/revenge flick?  How fucking sweet would that be?  We've resigned ourselves to the fact that we probably won't see such a cultivated masterstroke of perspicuity unless we write the unhallowed thing.  That was before I caught wind of 1976's The Legend of the Wolf Woman (a.k.a. Werewolf Woman).  As most of you know,  I've been out of town for a couple of weeks tending to a family emergency.  Naturally, I didn't think to bring entertainment along for the ride, so a fellow cheese gourmand let me borrow a couple of videos.

Wolf Woman happened to be the first title that hypostatized in conversation.  "Brilliant," I murmured to myself.  "This will be a wonderful way to kick off my lycanthropic clambake!"  I removed the gun from my mouth and apple-polished the nearest VCR.  Gentlemen (and ladies), what we have here is a werewolf rape/revenge flick.  I could split hairs and point out that we only get a glimpse of an honest-to-Satan werewolf in the baroque prologue, but I refuse...I refuse to play the asshole.  If you want to be a pedantic bluestocking doctrinaire, that's your business.  Stay the fuck out of my sandbox.  In any event, Daniela is a shapely blonde obsessed with a certain ancestor, a proverbial doppelganger who was burned at the stake for howling at moons and ripping out throats.  Are they kindred spirits?

I know what you're thinking.  You've heard this story before, right?  I know I figured that Wolf Woman would reveal itself to be a homogenized tale of reincarnation not unlike Black Sabbath or its countless derivatives.  Well, I figured wrong.  Daniela never transforms into a snarling beast.  She simply goes insane and models herself after snarling beasts.  It's a novel concept, and quite frankly, the foundation of the exposition is firm.  I was actually into the plot.  But don't confuse this for a lucid, spruce motion picture.  No, no, no...Wolf Woman is trash.  It's Eurotrash, to be exact.  There are copious drams of full-frontal nudity, splashes of blood (the more violent kills are implied, unfortunately) and a terse rape sequence.

Yep, rape.  Daniela settles down with a stuntman in the third act and leaves her life of...er, werewolf pantomime (?) behind.  Hold the phone!  It isn't long before her boyfriend is murdered by the same dudes who violated her personal bubble, so to speak.  Needless to say, she relapses and steals a page from Camille Keaton.  Her revenge is quite nasty, but again, the gore is kept in check.  Bummer.  I have to hand it to Annik Borel, our able-bodied leading lady.  She fucking commits herself to the role.  I was convinced that she had succumbed to raging lunacy, and was only allowed on set because of her astonishing cans.  Jeepers, she looks good naked.  Rusty English be damned, she should have been a Bond girl.

The Legend of the Wolf Woman is a fun watch.  It's nowhere near perfect, and it does need a stronger dose of graphic horror, but it made my weekend a tad easier to digest.  Hit it up!

Shitty Webcam Site Update Movie Review I Have Heartburn #29

The reunion special.

When it rains...

I don't have much time, so I'm going to copy and paste my Facebook status.

Just so everyone knows. I may not be online much in the next few days. My father is in the hospital with bleeding in the brain and a fractured skull. He was doing some work on a house last night when he fell through the roof. He's currently in "stabilized critical condition,"5 but he's expected to get worse before he gets better. That said, the prognosis is positive. Unless he goes downhill out of nowhere, he should make a recovery.