What Have You Done to Solange?

Recently, I've had an inexplicable desire to give giallo flicks another chance.  In the past, I had only caught two or three gialli that I genuinely enjoyed.  My favorite would have to be Lucio Fulci's Don't Torture a Duckling, a heartrending whodunit that forgoes zombie-derived putrescence in favor of linear storytelling.  As for Dario Argento, I have to recuse myself.  I simply don't care for his style, although I've developed a taste for Suspiria.  What Have You Done to Solange? was helmed by Massimo Dellamano, a relative unknown amongst casual horror apostles.  Is there such a thing as a casual apostle?  Nevermind.  Hey, I said nevermind.  Drop it.

I should warn you that this review will contain partial spoilers.  I won't spell out the ending in explicit detail, but it's really best if you go in fresh, so to speak.  First, a blithe, air-conditioned synopsis.  The students at an all-girls school are turning up dead, their genitals butchered.  A professor takes it upon himself to investigate the murders after his teenaged paramour is defiled.  He's married to a hot Russian blonde, but that's not enough for him.  No, he must sample one of his pupils.  I'm not trying to sound bitter; it's just that Enrico isn't the most sympathetic protagonist in the world.  Anyway, the unspeakably savage slayings seem to be tied to a missing girl by the name of Solange.

This is a flawed film.  But before I scrutinize Solange's shortcomings, I want to stress that I quite like it.  The script is easy to follow.  These spaghetti slashers tend to get bogged down in circuitous parquetry and dispensable plot points, but Dellamano only divulges information on a need-to-know basis.  We learn clues as the characters do, and in consequence, the mystery becomes compelling.  For the most part, the pacing is kept in check.  Solange does sag in the middle (somewhere, a 13-year-old just snickered), but the eerie finale stitches up the storyline with verve.

Without promulgating key twists, I will say that the actual denouement is a little...shiftless?  That's not the right word.  Because of the killer's motive, the leads are never in real danger.  They are mere bystanders.  Suspense is practically non-existent.  I wish I could reveal more, but again, you're better off finding out yourself.  And now, the important stuff.  The gore is adequate, and the female cast members disrobe with great frequency.  The screen is crawling with nubile flesh.  Ironically, a young Camille Keaton remains clothed.  Ha!  The bottom line is that What Have You Done to Solange? is worth checking out if you're fond of Italian giallo pictures.  End of.

Shitty Webcam Site Update Movie Review I Have Heartburn #39

Hogan/Andre or Savage/Steamboat?

Mountain Dew White Out is pretty good...

Aaaaaaahhhhhh!  It's a werewolf!  I'm fucking scared!

Video tomorrow.

Album Cover of the Week

Kaijunado

A few hours ago, I returned from seeing Pacific Rim.  It was my most anticipated film of 2013, and I didn't expect to be disappointed.  I wasn't.  This is basically a 90's-style summer blockbuster, only good.  In fact, I noticed striking similarities to Armageddon and Independence Day.  The ending is (perhaps unavoidably) maudlin, and I was able to predict each beat.  But hey, audiences have had enough of doleful, cynical action epics.  I suppose it was time for someone to deliver honest-to-Odin fun.  Guillermo Del Toro is certainly qualified, as this popcorn flick fits nicely next to his other big-budget outings.

The CGI is downright jaw-dropping, the action sequences kick ass and the characters are grounded (relatively speaking).  I wanted to see more of the "Category 5" kaiju, but overall, I dug the monsters on display.  I totally need a Knifehead figure.  I think it's pretty goddamn awesome that Del Toro drew inspiration from the original Gamera series.  I mean, I'm assuming.  I was reminded of Guiron and Zigra, in particular.  My favorite scene involved Ian Ziering lobbing explosives into a tornado teeming with sharks.  Wait, that was Sharknado.  I get those two confused all the time!

I missed this milk curd when it premiered on Syfy, but I made sure to download it.  I wasn't going to miss Snarknado.  No, ma'am.  It doesn't become a true b-movie spectacle until the third act.  It definitely tested my already limited supply of patience, but I'm glad that I stuck with it.  It was worth it just to observe Tara Reid trying to act like a normal, responsible adult.  If you can withstand the scurvy dialogue and the enervating exposition, you might as well Redbox it.  Yes, the below image is an actual screenshot from Sharknado.  Oh, Asylum...can you imagine if this was a ripoff of a major studio "shark tornado" vehicle?

Geek Out #88

A little Thaiju to prep me for kaiju.  I'm seeing Pacific Rim tomorrow.  I'll be sure to report back with my thoughts.  For now, here's a sampling of Garuda, a dandy "bird monster" flick that slipped under the radar.

Tongue Splashers

Remember these?  Why the hell were they discontinued?  They gave you multi-hued saliva, for Christ's sake.  No, this post doesn't have a salient point.

Blood Capsule #34

SHRUNKEN HEADS (1994)

Sweet holy spirit, this flick is fucking insane.  You need to watch it.  But don't read the synopsis!  Don't even go to the IMDb page.  I didn't know anything about the plot before I hit play, and I was delightfully discountenanced by the flighty twists.  Shrunken Heads begins as an austere "coming of age" drama akin to Stand by Me.  Pretty soon, the viewer is assaulted with aberrant Haitian voodoo, a lesbian-squired crime syndicate, humanitarian zombies and oblique traces of statutory rape.  By the way, the aforementioned lesbian is Meg Foster in a fat suit.  Have I mentioned that this flick is fucking insane?  I'm not sure if it's brilliant or defective, but I had a blast with it.  It's goddamn gorked.

Shrunken Heads was shepherded by Richard Elfman, brother of Danny (bro-bro provided the propulsive main theme).  I'm not all too familiar with Richard's work, but I dig his style.  The camera movements are kinetic, and the rainbow cinematography pops like the blood-filled balloons in It.  Beep, beep...holy shit, his name is Richie!  I've unintentionally concocted the world's most perfect joke!  In closing, this fatuous, incongruent convoy demands your attention.  It comes equipped with a marvelous edition of VideoZone.  Man, Charles Band really thought that Oblivion would be a hit, didn't he?

Shitty Webcam Movie Review Site Update I Have Heartburn #38

Check it.

Panels From Beyond the Grave #29

 CREEPSHOW (One-Shot, 1982)

December.  I haven't written a comic book review since December.  Apologies to the imaginary people who fancy this column.  In truth, I haven't bought or thumbed through many comics in the past six months, and I've been sitting on this one for awhile.  This is a "special occasion" title.  What was the special occasion?  Er, I wanted to consume it.  If you're new here, I'm a Creepshow freak (read my review of the first film HERE, bitch).  I'm starting a modest collection centered on the resplendent anthology.  I own the t-shirt, I own the Blu-ray, I own the VHS tape (signed by George fucking Romero), I own the rad Italian poster and I own the shit out of the graphic novel.

I'll never forget the day I found it.  Sure, I could have procured it on eBay years ago, but anyone can do that.  I just didn't feel like disbursing the fifty greenbacks it would have cost me, and besides, ordering a rare collector's item online is oft-times a clinical transaction.  You might even call it passive or quiescent.  Y'know, if you were a dick.  Anyhow, my mother schlepped me to an exanimate consignment shop on an otherwise drab autumn day.  We hit these joints every other week, and I rarely spot widgets of interest.  You know the score.  The movie section is comprised of Disney clamshells and eighteen copies of The Fugitive.  Kill me.

This particular promptuary was conjoined with a bookstore.  Nothing grabbed my eye...until it happened.  I saw it.  I literally gasped.  Yes, I'm well aware of the fact that I need to paw and encroach upon a female body, but for now, let's overlook my exacting melancholy.  I've coveted this damn graphic novel ever since I found out that it existed.  I couldn't believe that I located it in the wild.  Without prevarication, I can say that it's in slipshod shape.  Some of the pages are half-stapled and the colors have been drained of their spangle, but I couldn't care less.  My Creepshow comic ain't for sale, ya heard?  If it was in mint condition, I still wouldn't dare part with it.

It was always my intention to read this omnibus.  I can't imagine propping it up on a shelf untouched, left to age in a perpetual state of vainglory-fueled quarantine.  No, it had to be enjoyed.  And I did enjoy it.  There are no advertisements, no fan mail, no foreword/afterword.  The meat itself is nearly identical to the film, a few odd tweaks notwithstanding.  The order of the stories has been switched.  "Something to Tide You Over" and "The Crate" have swapped bearings.  Strangely, the opening dialogue between Ted Danson's Harry and Leslie Nielson's Richard in "Tide" is relayed via flashbacks.  Upson Pratt's grotesque demise in "They're Creeping Up on You" is diluted a bit.  The hissing cockroaches merely pile out of his mouth instead of erupting from his chest.

As evidenced, the changes are miniscule and seemingly insoluble.  They don't affect the comic's readability, though.  It's Creepshow.  It's fucking awesome.  Bernie Wrightson's artwork is grandiose in a pulpy way (???).  The visuals are more dynamic than those found in EC anthologies.  Ironic, seeing as how Creepshow is a direct homage to Tales From the Crypt, The Haunt of Fear and similar titles.  The Creep is essentially The Cryptkeeper, which is my sole complaint about this tattered tome.  He doesn't have his own personality.  Hell, he refers to us - the dear readers - as "kiddies" at least once per vignette.  Naturally, alliteration is scattered all over the fucking place.  I should probably let that slide.

Is it any wonder that I'm awarding the Creepshow graphic novel a high rating?  Savage Dragon says, "Christ, go outside for once in your wretched life.  Diptwat."

Album Cover of the Week

Did I say that a special review would be published on Sunday?  I meant Monday.  Yeah.  That's what I meant.  Monday.

Thanks to Matt "Metal God" Hill for bringing this killer cover to my attention.

Everyone Has a Price to Pay; Mine was $22

In my head, there is a list of wrestlers I would like to meet.  Slowly and surely, I am crossing names off of said list.  Earlier this year, I met Jake "The Snake" Roberts at the Mad Monster Party horror convention in Charlotte.  Earlier tonight, I met "The Million Dollar Man" Ted DiBiase at a minor league baseball game.  We're a nowhere town, so we only have a dinky single-A team, but every once in awhile, they nab an agreeable celebrity to sign autographs before the game.  Technically, it's a meet-and-greet.  Last year, the powers that be managed to cajole Jerry "The King" Lawler (I'm assuming that he was enmeshed with the promise of tight, virginal jailbait).

I didn't get to see Jerry, but come Hell or high water, I was going to see Ted.  First, the picture...

Forgive the pre-thunderstorm bulwark of brazen sunlight.

I never know what to say when I'm lucky enough to accost a public figure whom I admire.  Usually, I manage a lifeless "hello" while trying to emulate the behavior of a normal human being.  I distinctly recall my brain deflating during a chance encounter with George Romero.  But that was years ago.  I'm a mature adult now.  I can quell mortifying fanboy urges at will, which is why I was confident in my ability to conduct myself with a measure of gentility in the presence of a WWE Hall of Famer.  When the bell rang, I looked my opponent square in the eye.  No fear, motherfucker.  And...I was able to keep my cool.  What, you suspected that I choked?  Ha!

Actually, I thought that I would be left groping for words, but we shared a nice, brief exchange.  He proceeded to sign my shirt (along with a couple of photos).  Out of curiosity, I asked him if he had kept in touch with Matt Bourne over the decades.  As it turns out, Ted saw Matt a mere week before his untimely passing.  Chilling.  Our tickets included a substantial meal and a seat for the ensuing ballgame.  Honestly, I didn't care about the game, so we departed in the midst of a rain delay.  Curse my haphazard disdain for school spirit.  Bandwagon fidelity is underrated.

PS-Ted cut a wicked promo while throwing out the first pitch.  Well, he didn't throw it out; he paid a pitcher to do it for him.  That's "old school" showmanship, kids.  Always work the gimmick!

Ohhhh yeeeeees...

Ran across this old picture of Paul Bearer.  I don't know about you, but I had always assumed that he was born a pasty, orotund mortician.  Anyway, I'm prepping a rather sizeable review.  It may not be ready to publish until Sunday.  I promise that it will be worth the wait.  Let me rephrase that; I promise that you will have to wait to read it.

Matches That Time Forgot #55

The less said about Hulk Hogan's 2003 run as Mr. America, the better.  Allow me to contradict myself by talking about it.  Just a year prior, Hogan worked his watershed match at Wrestlemania 22 against The Rock.  He was back on top in the company that put him on the map.  So Vince dandified him as a batty, borderline-plagiaristic midcarder on Smackdown.  Granted, the blue brand held more sway in those days, but as Sean O'Haire can attest to, The Hulkster wasn't battling all-stars.  To be clear, I'm not pissing on O'Haire.  That dude had raw talent (pardon the blighted pun), and he was given a sweet gimmick.  For whatever reason, he amounted to Mantaur-levels of nothing.

The story here is that a heel Mr. McMahon tried desperately to prove that "newcomer" Mr. America was actually Hulk Hogan.  Admittedly, it was an entertaining angle.  Roddy Piper was even brought in to spar with The Red And Yellow Godhead, but crowds didn't take to him as a villain.  He was already too much of a fun-loving legend.  Oh, the match that time forgot.  The stipulation?  If O'Haire wins, Hogan has to submit to a lie detector test.  It's...alright.  What can I say?  There is some estimable action in between reiterative rest holds.  If you're wondering, Mr. America passed his polygraph with flying colors.

The program was abruptly dropped when Hogan left the WWE over contract disputes.  Sadly, his last appearance in The Fed involved Hornswoggle and The Great Khali.  Ugh.

Join the fan club, losers!

Join RR Inc.'s Facebook fan club if you haven't already.  You might see bonus content pop up every once in awhile.  It's fun!  It's spooky!  The membership fee is a paltry $700 per week!

Gods and Monsters

Bill Condon is an interesting director.  How does an artist(e) go from presiding over a slasher sequel to quarterbacking Oscar bait?  Stranger still, how do you go from 1998's Gods and Monsters to a dyad of milquetoast Twilight flicks?  And I didn't even mention Dreamgirls.  One thing is for sure; Condon can't be accused of sticking to a safe, punctilious formula.  I can, however, accuse him of being a talented dude.  Don't you dare try and stop me!  In my opinion, 1995's Candyman: Farewell to the Flesh is an underrated follow-up.  It doesn't touch the original, but it does retain a certain macabre class that suits its bee-clogged libertine of a villain.  By the way, I'm starting an indie rock band called Bee-Clogged Libertine.  Our debut album will be nine hours long and violently self-aware.

If you've been living under a rock-shaped impediment, Gods and Monsters is a semi-fictitious biopic of James Whale.  Of course, Whale helmed Frankenstein, Bride of Frankenstein and The Invisible Man.  If you weren't privy to that information, get off my website this instant.  Now, I don't know which parts are fictitious, but it matters none.  Was I engrossed by the story?  For the most part, yes.  Ian McKellen didn't have to reach very deeply to play an aging homosexual with a love/hate relationship with Hollywood.  I don't mean to belittle his performance.  I couldn't believe it was the same thespian who disturbed me to the bone in Apt Pupil.  McKellen is effortless, and I wish I could say the same for Brendan Fraser.

I'm conflicted.  I don't care for Fraser's acting style, but I can't deny that he played his character well.  Clay Boone is a gruff, parochial man's man.  If Fraser comes across as flat, it's because he's portraying a fairly one-dimensional person.  His curt dialogue doesn't help his cause, though.  Poor George (of the jungle, that is) has "I'm acting" carved into his brow, whereas McKellen...well, it's like I said.  He's effortless.  There are moments of forced histrionics that disrupt the organic cadence of the script.  Fortunately, these undesirable bits don't make James Whale any less fascinating.  I was genuinely moved by his mental and physical breakdown.  Having knowledge of the plot's eventual denouement didn't rob the climax of impact, although I could have done without the epilogue of sorts.

Clearly, this isn't an out-and-out bloodbath, but it will appeal to genre addicts for obvious reasons.  We visit the set of Bride of Frankenstein through brilliant flashbacks.  Blatant fan service?  Perhaps, but I don't mind.  I have to wonder why Condon didn't give as much attention to Whale's other works.  They're mentioned in passing, yes, but only Frankenstein is used as a stylistic motif.  The Invisible Man, in particular, is seemingly rich in relevant subtext.  I sigh in abashment.  Overall, Gods and Monsters is a strong film that offers a provocative peek into the dying days of a dignitary.  Man, they should put that on the DVD cover.  Not that I'm swayed by corporate handouts.  Where was I?  Oh, I remember.  I laughed, I cried, I shit the bed.  Four stars!

Shitty Webcam Site Update Movie Review I Have Heartburn #37

The ultimate challenge?

Holy Wow

Wow, I'm tired.  I'm calling it a day, but don't worry.  I'm posting two...yes, TWO items tomorrow to make up for my soporific torpor.  Here's a hint; I'm reviewing a Bill Condon film.  That could go anywhere, couldn't it?

Geek Out #87

Not even Naomi Watts could make me rent Children of the Corn IV: The Gathering.

Album Cover of the Week

Yeah, I like Body Count.  Shut up.

Matt Osbourne R.I.P.

I just learned of the passing of Matt Osbourne, a favorite wrestler of mine.  He was best known for playing the heel version of Doink the Clown.  I'm using a Big Josh picture because...er, no one else will.  Osbourne was given the bush-league lumberjack gimmick in WCW shortly before heading off to Connecticut.  His brilliant run as an unhinged clown tends to overshadow the fact that he was a fantastic worker for over a decade preceding his greasepaint years.  I don't resent Doink, though.  Far fucking from it.  Randy Savage once referred to him as "the most evil clown that ever lived."  I ask you, how could I deplore such a character?  It's a damn shame that Osbourne's substance abuse attenuated his WWF tenure.

Once Doink turned face in late 1993, less magnetic men donned his garish ring attire.  They weren't necessarily bad, but the gimmick became homogenized.  Luckily, we got several memorable matches out of Osbourne in the brief time that he was employed by Vince McMahon.  His series against Mr. Perfect during King of the Ring qualifying was flippin' awesome.  I also recommend taking a gander at his 2-out-of-3-falls bout versus Marty Jannetty.  FACTOID: Matt grappled with Ricky "The Dragon" Steamboat at the first Wrestlemania.  Maybe you already knew that.  Whatever.

56 is too young.  Rest in peace, brother.

Fuck Thursday

I took the day off.  Look, it's Dr. goddamn Giggles!

Winterbeast

Cover scan courtesy of VHSCollector.com.

I approached 1991's Winterbeast with cautious optimism.  It was really more like giddy anticipation.  I looked forward to watching this z-flick in the same way that my impetuous nephew, Zachary, foretells his afternoon snack.  "I didn't know you had a nephew, Dom."  I don't, but that's irrelevant.  Scaring up a copy of Winterbeast took years of sedulous patience and rueful virginity.  I recently found out that it was granted a spiffy DVD release, but fuck that noise (actually, I still want the DVD).  This monster fanatic was able to land a new, sealed videotape replete with the luscious cover art pictured above.  Oh, it's majestic.  But what's so special about Winterbeast?  Why did I covet this bitch with the prurience of an adulterer?

The short answer is that it's similar to Spookies.  Both cult classics were shot piecemeal.  They both feature a bevy of ridiculous creatures, and their storylines are equally confounding.  As we all know, Spookies is the greatest thing ever invented by man, so I have to examine any similar genre titles, however loose the association.  It's mandatory.  See, Winterbeast is a composite of random footage.  The "plot" is a vague imbroglio of senescent clichés and unspeakable stop-motion animation.  Reminds me of a joke.  What do you call a zelkafident gramp-induced exotorque?  A senescent imbroglio!  Ha!  Knee-slapper alert!  I'll wait until the laughter dies down before I continue.

We follow a group of park rangers as they look into the disappearance of a colleague.  It seems that the locals are being beheaded (and/or volleyed) by Indian spirits.  That's my synopsis.  Nothing is ever explained, and truthfully, my eyelids met on a number of occasions.  I only nodded off a second here, a second there; I'm confident that I didn't miss a ponderous chunk of exposition.  That's where Spookies and Winterbeast part ways.  I never could have drifted into oblivion during the former, while the latter pussyfoots along at a supine pace.  The dialogue is flat, most of the characters are interchangeable and the claymation...I can't even.  I provided a sample below.  That's a diabolical totem pole spying on a topless girl.  Yes, that's a sentence I just typed.

I did have fun chuckling at the shoestring effects.  Apparently, certain scenes were cobbled together in 1976 (!).  Other critters on display are a skinless dude-demon, a chicken lizard hawk and the winterbeast itself (I'm pretty sure it's the horned fiend on the cover, although it's never spelled out).  Oh, and a venerable innkeeper dons a clown mask before combusting in a spontaneous fashion.  If the entirety of Winterbeast was that fucking crazy, it would be a goddamn masterpiece.  Alas, you are forced to bear the brunt of indefatigable lethargy for the lion's share of this reel's 80 minutes.  Oy.  I wanted to love it, too.

Director Christopher Thies receives one Z'Dar for his bizarro miscreants (seriously, a voyeuristic totem pole???) and one Z'Dar for his inclusion of gratuitous nudity.  Sigh.  At least I can say that I own this spastic son of a bitch.

Shitty Webcam Site Update Movie Review I Have Heartburn #36

NSFW!

U! Sooooooo!

I told you (u)so!  Tonight on Raw, The Uso's won a triple-threat tag team match to become the number one contenders for the Spartan straps!  I've been a fan of Rikishi's pups since they debuted with Tamina Snuka by their side.  This push is long overdue, and yet, it's not ideal.  I don't mean to gripe, believe me; it's just that they have been tossed into a title match with no storyline.  Apart from a string of low-key victories, they haven't generated any momentum before holding fast to this opportunity.  I hope this feud becomes personal.  Get Rikishi involved.  Have The Shield beat him down and let his boys make the save.  It's too soon for them to win gold, but this could propel WWE's second finest team into the limelight.

I tip my five-gallon stove pipe to Triple H for revivifying real tag team action.  And don't forget...The Wyatt Family is rubbernecking around the corner.

Video tomorrow.  Movie review on Wednesday.  Incidentally, what the fuck is happening to fast food in this country?  Look at this heresy, this godless imprecation.  Dave Thomas would be ashamed.  A pretzel bacon cheeseburger?  What gives, America???

Album Cover of the Week

Blood Capsule #33

SLEEP TIGHT (2011)

Jaume Balaguero...write that name down.  Most horror aficionados are familiar with him because of the [Rec] franchise, but I never bothered with those flicks.  The entire "found footage" subgenre makes my taint oscillate.  That's not a good thing.  The only other Balageuro vehicle that I've ravaged is 1999's The Nameless, which I found to be genuinely disturbing.  Sleep Tight accesses the same part of your brain, the part that sends your skin into hair-raising horripilation (it's a word, asshole).  Imagine discovering that a creeper has been underneath your bed clutching a tissue soused in chloroform.  For five weeks.  Now imagine that he has violated you without your knowledge.  Meet Cesar, ladies and gentlemen!

This guy is a unique villain.  He doesn't get off on killing you; he just wants to destroy your life.  He wants you to be as anguished and disconsolate as he is.  The action is confined to an apartment building, but Balaguero's unflappable camerawork gives the film frightening dimensions.  The tension is ubiquitous, and the characters are grounded in reality.  Cesar is never portrayed as a criminal mastermind.  Rather, he is portrayed as a damaged soul who second-guesses himself and fucks up on occasion.  It goes without saying that the cast is above reproach.  Sleep Tight is a keeper on all fronts.  I really, really need to watch The Nameless again.

Geek Out #86

So.  This is a goofy fucking movie.  Amusing creature effects, though.  Where did the dollhouse come from anyway?

Neglected Columns

Maybe you folks don't notice it, but I've neglected certain columns as of late (namely Dead Links and Panels From Beyond the Grave).  I simply haven't read many comics since the hiatus.  That will change soon.  There is one comic, in particular, that I've been saving for a special occasion.  I can't wait to crack it open.  The Dead Links section is a different pickle altogether.  This is where I turn to you, dear reader.  Do you know of any cool, geeky websites that deserve more attention?  Hell, I'll even plug your website.  Drop me a line at the e-mail address in the upper right-hand corner.

I'm not sure what the weekend will bring, but you know that I'll post something.  That's my precept, my rallying cry.  "Random Reviews Incorporated...it's not that great, but it exists."'

Ghost Town

I know I've said this before, but one of the perks of this "job" is ferreting out obscure gems that even hardened horror junkies don't hash over very often.  1988's Ghost Town is a splendid example of a competent picture that fell through the cracks.  But why did it dissipate into the melanoid crevasse of vacuity?  Why does an ostrich fist itself near kindergarten playgrounds?  Only God knows.  Actually, there is some speculation that may shed light on this film's status as a diamond in the rough.  For starters, it was released by Empire, a studio that accouched 4,917 movies per year.  It would have been easy to get lost in the shuffle.  Plus, there are rumors that executive producer Charles Band plopped Ghost Town onto video shelves with zero fanfare before it was completed.

Again, this is speculation.  I don't know what happened.  Someone on IMDb claims that the official VHS cut of this horror/western hybrid is a mere workprint.  If so, it's not a bad workprint.  The production values are stellar.  I'm assuming that the diminutive budget was allocated to the right departments, though this isn't exactly a fireworks display of visual effects.  Gore is scant.  The rustic setting feels authentic, but if an amusement park can furnish an ostensibly tenantless "ghost town" with carnival cardboard, it can't be that taxing.  Heh, I like how I'm belittling the work that goes into creating art.  I should do that more often.  I'm sure that it's becoming.

A bland deputy is assigned to the disappearance of...a chick.  We never really learn about her.  We don't learn much about our protagonist, for that matter.  That's probably Ghost Town's crackerjack pitfall.  All of the characters are stock pastiches of crude characteristics.  Take the deputy, for instance.  He's a rugged, handsome moral anchor.  That's it.  I'm swiveling down a cul-de-sac of excursive information.  Back on track; Langley (oh, that's the deputy's name) follows clues to a literal ghost town.  From there, he inadvertently steps into the past and must defeat a black-clad ghoul to save the sandy whistle-stop.  Shades of Army of Darkness, the main difference being the script's somber tone.  Honestly, it could have used a moderate dose of levity.

Ghost Town is entertaining enough.  I don't dislike it.  The pace is swift, the acting is decent and the baddie is relatively cool.  Unfortunately, the entire film is as one-dimensional as its hero.  It's almost too simple.  I didn't care for the victims, so I wasn't emotionally invested in the plot threads.  Director Richard Governor hasn't sat behind a camera since, which gives credence to the theory that he abandoned the project towards the end of principal photography.  It's a shame because Ghost Town is well-shot.  Naturally, it has eluded deluxe DVD treatment.  Strange, seeing as how everything else stamped with Band's appellation is readily available in multiple formats.  If you manage to find a copy, give it a shot.  It's fit for a lazy weekend.

Shitty Webcam Movie Review Site Update I Have Heartburn #35

It's that time again!

The Double Turn

Like most wrestling fans, I was reminded of Bret Hart and "Stone Cold" Steve Austin's submission match at Wrestlemania 13 when Alberto Del Rio viciously attacked a concussed Dolph Ziggler last night at Payback.  Will this double turn propel Ziggy the way that Austin was propelled in 1997?  No.  It will not.  For that to happen, he would have to be over in more than three cities.  Del Rio is also struggling to connect with fans.  In fact, he's almost "under."  No one gives a fuck about him, and I'd be surprised if he was still on WWE's roster by this time next year.  A harsh prediction?  Maybe.  Look, he's undeniably talented in the ring, but he doesn't have intangible oomph.

Ziggler still has potential, but if he's going to be the next breakout star, he needs to hit the ground running.  Tonight.  His on-screen girlfriend was finally given a chance to showcase her wrestling skills against Kaitlyn.  From the second she debuted on NXT, I knew that A.J. would go far.  As far as Kaitlyn is concerned, the jury is still hemming and hawing.  But it's a hung jury!  GET IT?  The Shield is starting to lose steam, so something major needs to happen there.  I could see adding another member, preferably developmental hopeful Paige.  A feud between her and A.J. is bound to happen sooner or later.

Can we kill Ryback now?  It's not his fault he tanked, but enough is enough.  The time has come to take Daniel Bryan to the next level.  I know it, you know it, everyone knows it...don't they?

PS-Watch for The Uso's to be put on the fast track.  Let's do this, Jean-Paul!

CM Wolverine

I just watched a lot of basketball and wrestling.  I'll write something more in-depth about it tomorrow.  Raw should be interesting, to say the least...

Album Cover of the Week

The Cyclops

I don't know if this counts as a disclaimer, but I watched the Thriller Video version of 1957's The Cyclops hosted by Elvira.  Honestly, the busty lorelei's punchline-ridden segments colored my viewing experience.  They made the film more entertaining than it probably was (that was the express purpose, I suppose).  I can't hold Elvira's curvilinear charm against The Cyclops, though.  Hell, she makes everything better, and knowing my questionable taste, I would have enjoyed this nutty sci-fi reel anyway.  It was written and directed by b-movie chieftain Bert I. Gordon, the resourceful lad behind Earth vs. the Spider and Empire of the Ants.  The latter is an unheralded "nature runs amok" classic.  You seriously need to watch it.  Just thought I'd throw that out there.

If you haven't grappled with one of Gordon's rear-projection pageants, his divertissements usually flaunted low-rent creature effects and somewhat talky scripts.  I'm not doing a good job selling The Cyclops as an ideal time-waster, am I?  Perhaps I should move on to the synopsis.  Susan charters a plane to search for her missing fiancé in a mountainous region of Mexico.  An eccentric millionaire funds half of the trip in the hopes of claiming uranium deposits.  The area at hand is rumored to be rich in the stuff.  I'm not sure what he wants with it, unless he plans on bolstering the pyrophoricity of high-density penetrators or building a ballast for a missile re-entry vehicle.  Know what I mean?

Anyway, her beau's plane crashed there three years ago.  She believes that he's still alive, so against the pilot's better judgment, the troupe (a motley bunch that also includes a lovelorn scientist) embarks on a safari of sorts.  What do they find?  Well, they find a giant bird, a giant rodent, a giant salamander and a giant...dude.  Said dude's face is horribly disfigured.  He only has one eye, hence the title.  Credit Jack Young for devising nifty make-up effects.  The ogre's countenance is so gruesome, it was later used in War of the Colossal Beast, the sequel to Gordon's own The Amazing Colossal Man.  The rest of the visuals are lousy, but hey, such blunders come with the territory.

If you can muscle through the exposition, your patience will be rewarded.  The Cyclops is actually pretty damn violent.  In fact, TCM airs a censored print that excises two minutes of gore.  We're not talking torrents of blood here, but the star heavy's demise is graphic nonetheless.  On the bronze end of the anal beads (hazel, terra-cotta, burnt sienna...take your pick), the storyline is profoundly dumb.  The reasons given for the land's genetic mutations are as hazy and vague as your teenaged sister's status updates on Facebook.  Plus, I found Susan to be an exasperating main character.  Surprisingly, Lon Chaney Jr. turns in the most inspired performance of the lot.  And this was during his "potted tippler" phase!

The Cyclops is on DVD via Warner's burn-on-demand service.  I'm sure it's cool, but I recommend hunting down the Thriller Video version.  Because, y'know, Elvira.

Geek Out #85

Rewatched Terror of Mechagodzilla recently.  It still owns.  Am I the only one who adores Titanosaurus?