Album Cover of the Whatever

At least the logo is easy to read.  This is German death metal from 1992.  It was Fleshcrawl's first full-length release, and it's a skullfucker.  Super doomy.  But I picked it because of the cover.  Giger-esque architecture (balls and cocks galore), an apocalypse-orange sky, an ominous city in the distance...this is no-nonsense metal art!

Blood Capsule #62

THE EVIL CLERGYMAN (1987)

We're smack dab in the middle of my Full Moon Five experiment.  I knew I'd be employing a Blood Capsule amid this muddle, so I saw this as an opportunity to bonk one of the few short films on Full Moon Streaming (once again, I'm not being grease-palmed by the Band dynasty).  Hopefully, you know the story behind Pulse Pounders, an anthology produced by Empire Pictures just as Empire Pictures was splintering.  It was ultimately lost for 26 years until the workprint was found.  Isn't it fucking enchanting how Charles Band manages to find stuff?  Aw, I believed him.  This time.  Anyway, The Evil Clergyman is a vignette nicked from Pulse Pounders.  Because for whatever reason, the whole assemblage couldn't be released as a conjunctive state of affairs.

That's dry information.  What you need to know is that this 28-minute segment of Lovecraft-based (that's right, daddy-o) horror is startlingly good.  It kicked my wheelchair's nugget!  Fuck a synopsis.  It has a plot, but the less you know, the better.  Besides, the title is self-explanatory.  The cast is iniminiminiminimitable.  Jeffrey Combs, Barbara Crampton, David Warner, David Gale...I nearly spurted typing their names.  Man, what do I say about The Evil Clergyman without spoiling the best shit?  It's packed with twisted ideas, Richard Band's score is hauntingly serene and Crampton, well, she is at her absolute creamiest.  My.  God.  Yes, that's a bovine, insolent comment to include, but I did notice her incredible performance.  So there.

Let's say Pulse Pounders hit shelves on schedule in the late 80's.  Granted, its insertion into an anthology would have clouded its visibility, but I believe that The Evil Clergyman would be seen as a cult classic in 2016.  It's too rad.

Seven Deaths in the Cat's Eye

Euroshock!  I don't know what it is about Italian genre films and numbers, but those 8-bit plumbers sure do love to count, don't they?  Calm yourselves; I'm part-Italian.  I'm just saying.  Four Flies on Grey Velvet, Seven Blood-Stained Orchids, Seven Notes in Black (a.k.a. The Psychic)...and then you have today's subject, 1973's Seven Deaths in the Cat's Eye.  As you might have fathomed, it's an illicit giallo.  Almost every character is culpable, but there are dotty, off-center measures taken to give this spaghetti slasher its own method of functioning, as it were.  It's weird shit.  Why don't we analyze this weird shit and try to determine if it helps or hinders Seven Deaths?

On the surface, the plot appears to be orderly.  There is a killer killing people.  Beneath the surface, this is a giallo itching to chip away at the confines of Italian horror filmmaking.  A high-minded tenet, but the screenplay botches the spot (wrestling vernacular; I'm convinced I can make it a popular turn of phrase).  Perimetric story details are so goddamn goofy, I can't imagine how the team of producers at the bottom of this sideshow ever expected it to be taken seriously.  Maybe they didn't.  Our heroine is visiting her family at their castle, and her cousin casually reveals to her that he has caged (you might as well say indentured) a circus orangutan.  Also, he wants to fuck her.  The cousin, not the ape.

The ape subplot is militantly useless.  My guess is that the totally-not-a-guy-in-a-suit is supposed to be a suspect, but we know without a shadow of a doubt that the offender is human.  Help?  Hinder?  Both.  It's fucking ludicrous, but it has z-grade appeal.  Hey, there's a cat.  I'm trying to cross all of the "freaky feline" flicks off of my list.  I'm getting close!  Seven Deaths positions a tabby (?) at the scene of each crime.  What does that mean?  Is the pussy unhallowed?  Oracular?  Is it just a dumb dick coincidence?  Well, the movie didn't tell me, so I don't know.  I'm going with "hinder" on that one, as it adds absolutely nothing to the feature presentation.

I'm shitting on the celluloid, but I actually had fun with Seven Deaths in the Cat's Eye.  I've done a masterfully poor job of interspersing positive comments, haven't I?  Look, this is my first review.  Ease up.  The gothic atmosphere is refreshing, and there are several sweet exterior shots.  Props to director Antonio Margheriti (credited here as David DeCoteau - I mean, Anthony Dawson).  He had a firm grip on spooky stuff, as opposed to whatever the fuck The Snow Devils was.  I'm eager to watch more of his analects, especially Castle of Blood.  At any rate, I was entertained throughout.  Despite ubiquitous flaws, I wanted to see how this puppy ended.  Robert Z'Dar says, "I bet the killer did it.  The son of a bitch."

Geek Out #123

No explanation necessary.

Doctor Mordrid

Is it possible to get exactly what you wanted and be disappointed?  That's how I feel about 1992's Doctor Mordrid.  It serves up the kind of flimsy, unreasonable frames of gossamer camp that one would crave from a Jeffrey Combs-starring Full Moon movie, but I was left with a sense of...incompleteness?  I'm not sure that's a word.  It fits, though!  Co-directors Albert and Charles Band (I bet they date the same chicks) try to kick the football so hard, they miss it altogether.  This was originally supposed to be Full Moon's Dr. Strange adaptation, but obviously, Marvel disengaged.  Change the names, tweak certain items and blammo, baby!  Your order of Doctor Mordrid is ready to be shipped.

If you haven't figured it out by now, Combs is Anton Mordrid, a blue-robed sorcerer committed to protecting the earth from forces of eeeeviiiil.  Real quick - Combs looks ridiculous in his full costume, which incorporates a cape.  The film opens with Mordrid standing (he may have been sitting) in space, and he's speaking to The Monitor.  Who what huh?  That's some omniscient fucker.  A fucker god, I shall call him.  The Monitor is represented by a pair of eyes hovering in space.  I realize that I didn't need to use italics again, but c'mon, we're already in fucking space.  Italics.  Right, so Kabal - an eeeeviiiil sorcerer - has touched down on our cobalt pebble and needs to obtain stonework.  Y'know, to help him rule the world.

The whole shebang is building up to a climactic blowoff.  Sorry, that's a wrestling term.  A battle!  The problem is that the "blowoff" is abbreviated, and the exposition is a soft-sell approach to puffery.  It's ordinary.  It's mellow.  Eh, I guess I was hoping for more action, more alchemy, more special effects.  The effects that subsist are definitely monumental.  We get a stop-motion fight between dinosaur fossils, and it's badass to the fucketh degree.  I didn't need light shows on that scale.  Just give me something other than Mordrid chatting up a forensic (or whatever) babe in an apartment hallway.  The running time is a meager 74 minutes, but the first hour is a chore.  Why couldn't The Monitor monitor the pace?  When your fucker god hands you lemons, rub them in his eye sockets.  That are floating in space.  Italics.

Brian Thompson is keen as Kabal.  Yvette Nipar gives a studied performance as Sam, the forensic (or whatever) babe.  I like that she's legitimately intelligent, although I didn't buy her compulsory infatuation with the titular wizard.  If there is a sci-fi/fantasy "epic" that didn't need romance, it's this one.  There is plenty of plot as it is, and the Band blokes boggle it.  I respect my readers enough to deflect spoilers, but suffice to squeak, the final conflict ignores logic.  Actually, the crux of the entire storyline occludes oh-so-pesky details that would have made Doctor Mordrid easier to swallow.  I'm making this flick sound dreadful, but it's not.  It's fun and mediocre.  See, this is what I meant by the first sentence of the review.  Proceed with caution.

The Full Moon Five

If you read yesterday's post, you know that I signed up for Full Moon Streaming (again, this isn't paid advertising).  Well, I'm going to utilize it.  The next five reviews (including a Blood Capsule) will cover films from said website.  That doesn't necessarily mean I'll be spit-roasting five Full Moon flickies.  FMS sports a healthy selection, though I can't see myself subscribing for any longer than six months, unless they continue to add libraries.

Am I taking requests from the Full Moon faithful among you?  No.  I don't need a bank of cocks in my kitchen.  Uh, I may have razed an old adage.  Never the fucking mind!  I can't wait to review Totem.  I'm not going to review Totem.  Ever.

What kind of asshole?

Everyone online is freaking out about Beyonce's new album and the Game of Thrones season premiere.  Me?  I'm freaking out because I signed up for Full Moon Streaming (no, this isn't a sponsored post...I wish it was!).  Netflix just doesn't have enough stuff that suits my horrible tastes.  I'm currently halfway through Head of the Family, but that's not the cover story.  No, the cover story deals with a Moonbeam Entertainment feature entitled Demon in the Bottle.  What was Moonbeam?  It was Charles Band's family-oriented sci-fi/fantasy imprint.  I know that Demon in the Bottle exists.  I've seen the trailer (more on that in a cold minute).  I've even read reviews!  And yet, I've never found a single copy of the film.

I have reason to believe that Demon in the Bottle wasn't distributed on home video in the states.  Full Moon Streaming is ballasted with b-doodads, and obviously, that includes the entire Full Moon catalog.  Except for Demon in the Bottle.  That leads me to the trailer, which transposed my goddamn faculties.  The audio track is lifted from the trailer for David Cronenberg's Crash.  !?!!?!???!?  It syncs up beautifully, but why?  WHY?  Who did this?  And why???  Who would...am I missing something?  Is there an obvious link between a wholesome monster movie and a clinical character study that examines the fetishistic desire for auto accidents?

Demon in the Bottle is on YouTube.  In Spanish.  I'm convinced that I'll never watch it.  I do need to finish Head of the Family, so if you don't mind, please get off my land.

Blood Capsule #61

SLAUGHTERHOUSE ROCK (1988)

Technically, you could throw this little number in the pile of "heavy metal" horror heavyweights that bulldozed the 80's.  That's why I had to (HAD to) watch it.  It is with a sad face emoji that I must report to you that the musical aspect of Slaughterhouse Rock is a mere shadow that jitterbugs in the background of the plot.  Maybe it's doing the bunny hop; I can't be too sure.  A guy (names escape me) has recurring nightmares of gruesome slayings being carried out at Alcatraz.  They are getting more and more vivid, to the point that...um, Guy wakes up in flames.  His psychologist beseeches him and his chums to visit the sequestered prison.  That's precisely what he does.  Demon possession, flaky wisenheimer dialogue and Toni Basil's headgear ensues.

I will say that I was entertained.  The crew gave a shit, and everything looks nice.  You know you've been watching a lot of cheese-grade bilge when you're pleasantly surprised that the movie you're viewing resembles a movie.  In all fairness, Rock checked my horror boxes.  The gore is fucking soggy, and all locations are steeped in fog.  It really isn't until the last act that the script trips over itself.  I was asking questions I shouldn't have been asking.  Example?  "Where did that monster come from?"  If I wasn't a fan of random monsters, there is a chance I might abhor this flick.  Spookies has spoiled me so.

Hush, Hush...Seriously, STFU

I'm back.  You'll notice the parades, the funfetti, the crying children, the hula dancers...personally, I thought the saturnalia was unnecessary.  I'm just one horror blogger in a briny basin of undulating horror bloggers.  But whatever, DEREK.  I saw a movie the other day.  A whole movie!  It's called Hush, and it's generating a payload of buzz right now.  When I first heard about it, I couldn't believe that a forgettable Gwyneth Paltrow vehicle from 1998 was being given a second chance at prominence.  Then I realized that this was a more recent film, a near-slasher whose deaf lead is stalked by...well, the unsettling motherfucker pictured above.

Director Mike Flanagan is quietly assembling a stellar resume.  2011's Absentia far exceeded its gracile budget, and from what I understand, 2013's Oculus was a respectable joint.  With Hush, he puts his stamp on the thriller subgenre.  It's a good stamp.  The tension is keyed up to levels of "oh shit" and "oh fuck."  You want to see Maddie - our protagonist - survive this game.  She is played to perfection by co-writer Kate Siegel (had no idea she was married to Flanagan...plot twist!).  I recommend Hush full-sail, but it does have its faults.  The killer takes off his mask in the first act where he is exposed as a minor-league douchebag.  Up to that point, the "Myers-lite" gimmick was working for him.  Why demystify it?

Still, Paltrow turns in a magic(k)al performance, and remember, this was right after Se7en.  How the fuck did she regain her head?  That's acting, my friends.

Ellipsis

I'll be back in a week or so.  Stay tuned!

The Day the World Ended

At the onset of the new millennium, Stan Winston co-produced a series of remakes under the Creature Features banner.  They were updates of sci-fi drive-in classics from the 50's.  I won't bore you with canned observations of each film (there were five total), but suffice to say, most of them were agreeable.  Prior to finding this puppy at a thrift store, The Day the World Ended was one of the rebuffs I had not seen.  It probably wouldn't surprise you to learn that I have seen the 1958 original, a kooky time-waster with a plenitude of pep.  If you're also familiar with the parent picture, you should know that the 2001 version has changed pretty much everything, the title notwithstanding.  That title...it has absolutely nothing to do with the story.  Zot squat.

We zero in on Ben, a little boy in a (really) small town.  He's demure, he gets bullied, even the teachers treat him like roach ordure.  And that wasn't really a sentence, but roll with me.  A new school counselor comes to, um, Smalltown, and it's not long before she forms an unspoken bond with Ben.  Sierra Vista!  That's the name of the town.  Sorry.  Anywho, it becomes crystal clear that everyone is keeping a major secret.  PRO TIP: If your community is trying to keep a major secret, maybe don't act cagey and circumspect around all outsiders.  I won't spoil twisty-twists, but the secret involves a murderous alien with surly tentacles.

I'll start with the positive stuff.  Winston didn't just help produce this flick; he helped with the creature effects, and they kick ass.  All practical, baby!  It's a peachy monster.  On the not-so-positive front, there are two moments of cruddy CGI.  Fret not, for they are never used for the space-endemic beast.  Bobby Edner plays the role of our child actor, and I have to give him credit.  He's quite good, and I didn't want to strangle him once.  The rest of the cast is versed.  Nastassja Kinski gives a stellar performance as the concerned therapist.  Randy Quaid is intimidating as the brutish doctor.  I don't know if he was already cracked in 2001, but I kept waiting for his gaskets to spout.  I imagined him grabbing an orange and proclaiming, "This is my god!  I am basted for the babysitter hooves!"

With regards to the plot, it's fairly unique for a small-scale creature feature.  That doesn't mean it makes sense.  There are flashbacks toward the end that fill in some of the blanks, but they don't connect the most substantial dots.  The sci-fi elements end up suffering.  Aren't those the elements that carry the bulk of the weight?  On the whole, I wasn't terribly attached to a single character, so I can't say I cared if anyone died.  It was a stolid, neutral watch.  "Neutral" is the appropriate word, though I did enjoy The Day The World Ended.  For what its worth, it outranks its loopy forebear.  If you're interested in checking out the other entries in this series, steer clear of Teenage Cavemen.  Don't ask questions.  Steer.  Clear.

QUEENSRYCHE - Condition Human

I feel like I need to make something clear right off the bat.  I am NOT in the Geoff Tate camp.  He has released a couple of records since being toppled and bundled off from Queensryche.  Between the two of them, there might be five songs that I would consider good.  I don't want to make it a point to bash the guy, but it's hard to ignore the factious legal battles when you're reviewing a Queensryche album.  In 2013, the remaining core band members officially moved on, releasing a self-titled affair that was met with mostly encomiastic flattery.  I thought it was a step in the right direction.  I mean, it didn't drive me wild, but I dug it alright.  Last year's Condition Human, on the other hand, has been driving me wild since I (finally) bought it a few weeks back.

From my vantage point, it seems that they were merely gearing up with Queensryche, not to censure it altogether.  This is the grand opus that longtime fans have been waiting to hear since 1988's Operation: Mindcrime.  No, it's not a lofty concept piece that tells an intricate story, and I certainly don't want to oversell it.  I simply love what the Q boys (not to be confused with my hair metal group Q*Boyz) are doing here musically.  They have been designated as a progressive rock outfit since 1990's Empire, but this ragtime right here is metal.  Even the more "commercial" tunes have a metallic backbone.  Scott Rockenfield's drumwork is busier, the dual leads reek of Iron Maiden and vocal powerhouse Todd La Torre draws out a Halford-esque shriek every once in awhile.

Speaking of which, can we drop the comparisons to Tate?  Too many standpat reactionaries wrote him off as a clone.  I'm sorry, but the lead singer of Queensryche should pass for the lead singer of Queensryche.  Besides, he isn't an exact replica.  He does have his own kinks and vagaries.  His melodies are infectious, and I fancy the way he tackles verses.  That's an oddly specific thing to praise, I know.  I won't fucking apologize for it!  Michael Wilton and Parker Lundgren trade solos with artistry.  The extended lead break in "Selfish Lives" is a ginormous wedge of sweetness.  I kid you not, the tactful shredding in "Hellfire" brings Chuck Schuldiner to mind.  DeGarmo?  Who the hell is that?

'Twas just a joke.  I'm a DeGarmo fan.  Anyway, Condition Human is stacked with dynamics.  "Arrow of Time" and "All There Was" will serve as your uptempo rippers for the evening.  "Guardian" is - dare I say - heavy in a modern sense.  It's not a fucking deathcore song, but it packs a number of headbob moments that will test your neck muscles.  "Bulletproof" is a compelling ballad with a killer chorus.  If the world were fair, that shit would be on the radio.  The title track could be the best cut, but I can't decide, for there are dizzying contenders.  Overall, Condition Human is a landmark release for a band free to retrace their steps back to a style that befits them, while also nudging their sound forward in an organic fashion.  In other words, it's awesome!

Album Cover of the Whatever

Undertaker of the Damned...blackened death metal out of Chile.  No relation to The Phenom.  Thunderous stuff.

Giant Box of Cereal

So that was a whole bunch of Wrestlemania.  Let me say this right out of the gate - by and large, WM32 was excellent.  It might have been the best 'Mania package in the last decade, although that isn't saying much.  The good stuff (and again, there was plenty of it) will forever be smazy in my mind, bolted in a depleting mush.  Huh?  I'm trying to tell you that the production was too long.  My God, it was too long.  Even in the days when every PPV ran for three hours, you were running the risk of losing your audience.  I can't sit still during a movie.  If you count the pre-show, WM32 was close to seven hours of super-produced sports entertainment.  E-fucking-gads!

My advice?  Invent a way to edit live programming.  Or just, y'know, plan a more succinct show.  I hate to sketch out another list after utilizing au courant list technology for my review of Shredder Orpheus, but I feel like I can get away with it.  Because I can do what I want.

List) Who here picked Zack Ryder to win the IC strap?  You're a fucking liar.  But I ain't mad.  Good for Zack.  And good for the WWE brass for taking a chance.  I sincerely hope that he keeps the title beyond a single episode of Raw.  If he loses it tonight, I will be pissed off in a shaky, irrational way.

List) Jericho and Styles worked their fourth consecutive barn burner, possibly the most superlative one yet.  My only problem is...yeah, this was unnecessary.  The angle was dead in the water.  Now that they are "tied" (again), will they have a fifth match?  I thought Wrestlemania was supposed to resolve storylines.

List) The WWE Women's Championship!  I dig it.  The "pink butterfly" belt can rot in Hell for all I care.  The triple threat between Sasha, Becky and Charlotte was off the scales.  From a technical standpoint, it might have been the best bout of the night.  From a booking standpoint, why the interference?  Resolve, remember?  Resolution!  Closure!  Blowoff!  With the exception of 'Taker/Shane and the ladder match, it seems that each spot on the card was tainted by something.

List) Ambrose/Lesnar was okay.  Meh.  The grand majority of the weapons were useless.  I mean, a chainsaw?  Was he going to eviscerate Paul Heyman?  I can't help thinking that Ambrose should have won.  He has been losing A LOT lately.  The writers tout his "insanity," but it doesn't matter how unhinged the guy is if he lies down for all of his opponents.  He has zero credibility right now.

List) Shane O'Mac is a psychopath.  He's the real lunatic fringe.

List) The 3-on-4 handicap match...why weren't the tag titles on the line?  Fuck if I know, but I popped like a blood condom (sorry for the image) for HBK, Cactus Jack and "Stone Cold" Steve motherfucking Austin.  Where were the black trunks?  The trunks would have completed the picture, yo!

List) I'm usually the last fan to cry burial.  In almost every case, it's a knee-jerk reaction.  However, what else can you call the lamentable fate of The Wyatt Family?  What a missed opportunity.  That's an editorial for another day.

List) The main event. lolz

lolz

Shredder Orpheus

Boy, do I feel like a quarterwit.  Oblige my rhetorical question for a moment; have you ever been duped by a cool VHS box cover and a bitchin' synopsis?  Of course you have.  We all have.  In a way, 1990's Shredder Orpheus transported me back in time.  This shit happened constantly when I would rent from Video World or Community Video.  The lesson I learned from this flick? Some nostalgia isn't warm.  I can't think of a case where the movie in my head was so far away from the movie I actually watched.  Not this fucking far.  And the plot!  Get a load of this load.  In a post-apocalyptic wasteland, a dingy menagerie of skateboarders try to help a local "rock star" retrieve his girlfriend from a nefarious television station that proselytizes its viewers.

The station is called Euthanasia Broadcast Network (EBN).  It's Hell.  No, literally.  It's supposed to be Hell.  The EBN tower is unmistakably supernatural (doors disappear, replaced by brick walls), but the denizens of The Gray Zone never bat an eye at these monkeyshines.  Oh, The Gray Zone.  It's...not important right now.  At any rate, EBN doesn't air shows per se; it airs an endless freshet of in-studio musical performances.  The base of operations is run by Hades, a powdered schlemiel straight out of a new wave act (imagine a more effeminate Gary Numan).  NOTE: It's not clear if Hades pulls the strings for this one locus or the entire corporation.  Matter of fact, nothing is clear.

Our Mad Max-style conurbation isn't given a name, but Shredder Orpheus was shot in Seattle and influenced by the surrounding art scene.  Unfortunately, none of the good music seeped into the production.  If I could chat with writer/director/star (yes, star) Robert McGinley, I'd be all, "Bro, Chris Cornell was willing to do a cameo in Singles.  I'm sure he would have contributed some of his band's songs to your soundtrack."  Then I would stop talking before I felt compelled to wring his spine.  Sweet Dionysus, where do I start?  I can't sentence.  Hey, I know!  I can list!

FUCK ~ Shredder Orpheus takes itself too seriously.  Pretentious is an understatement.  The "skate-rock adventure" has an official website, and it contains an interview with McGinley.  The auteur answers the first question as each of the main characters.  Naturally, he waxes esoteric on the themes and how they're relevant over 25 years later.  Yeah, they're relevant because they're platitudinous and dumbed the fuck down.  Sorry, man.  Your movie didn't say anything new or profound, not even in 1990.  And your metaphors are as subtle as Marsha May gaping for Lexington Steele's guided missile cock.  That thing is a booster!

FUCK ~ I empathize with low budgets.  I do.  But McGinley was overambitious here, and his ideas needed money.  The only special effect that works is the beheading.  I don't know what Shredder Orpheus was filmed on, but I doubt that it was film.  I bet it was film.  It probably wasn't film.  Film.

FUCK ~ When people die in post-apocalyptic Seattle, they deliver their souls to EBN.  Basically, they are brainwashed into erasing every trace of their existence in the form of shredding paperwork.  Shredding!  Get it?  Fuck off.

FUCK ~ At Orpheus's wedding (he's the radical rocker), his greaseball manager gifts him a bizarre instrument that - according to mythology - was invented by Jimi Hendrix.  It's stupid.  Fuck you.

FUCK ~ Shredder Orpheus is narrated by an exasperating fiftysomething who is paralyzed from the waist down.  He comes across as...well, the old dude who hangs with the younger crowd to make himself feel kewl.  First of all, my impractical legs are ten times kewler than his impractical legs.  Fourthly, he just shouts generic punk bombast that doesn't amount to nadir diddly.  You can use that expression if you want.  Free of charge.  Where was I?  The narrator expatiates over several events that he couldn't have possibly known about in detail.  Why the hell is he the narrator?

FUCK ~ The acting isn't bad.

FUCK ~ It's based on some Greek bullshit.

Whatever, I'm done.  I hated Shred Her Orifice.  You will be shocked to learn that I recommend this feature presentation.  Yeah, that's right.  It would appear that I'm in the extreme minority on this one.  Most of the reviews that I've been able to find are glowing.  It's regarded as a cult classic, so you might as well give it a whirl.  Heh.

Geek Out #122

Holy cooter, it's a whole movie!  It's awful.  Don't watch it.  If you're curious, just skip to the last ten minutes.  Geek out!

OBSCURA - Akroasis

I've been listening to a lot of Queensryche today.  In fact, I was listening to Queensryche's latest release (foreshadowing alert) when I started writing this review.  So like, now.  I'm listening to it now.  You could say that I'm sliding into my assessment of Obscura's Akroasis sideways, and you would be right.  See, I bought both albums on the same day.  They shall be immutably adulterated in my mind together until I am without mind.  But it's okay.  I'm a professional, and I can focus on Akroasis in spite of spinning the liquid shit out of Condition Human (the Queensryche long player).  Yeah, I should have reviewed that one first.  I haven't really been in the mood for technical death metal in a couple of days.  Luckily, Akroasis is epic enough to transcend something as fitful and fickle (fickful?) as my given mood.

I've seen others say this, but it bears repeating.  It's improbable how good this album is, you dopes (sorry).  It's kind of stunning that it sounds like Obscura at all.  You have to factor in the copious line-up changes that have occurred since 2011's Omnivium.  Apparently, the former bassist despises frontman Steffen Kummerer, and so does former drummer Hannes Grossmann.  Former guitarist Christian Munzner exited the band for health reasons.  I don't know when the hell the music on Akroasis was written, but it does ferry the earmarks of natural evolution from where Obscura was five years ago.  Is this all Steffan's doing?  Eh, I find that hard to believe.  I also don't care.  Almost in defiance of downtime and tessellated personnel, Akroasis is a perfect fusion of every Obscura record up to this point.

Sebastian Lanser is a Lovecraftian beast on the kit.  That's a kewl way of saying "drums."  Jazzy fills, furious blasts, well-placed double bass...the guy is capable of playing whatever the song at hand needs.  Ditto for the axeslingers (bonus kewl points).  I'm madly in love with the leads on "Sermon of the Seven Suns."  They're goddamn articulate.  All of the guitar solos on Akroasis are driven by melodies that seem to know where to go to pull the most emotion out of the listener.  Riff-wise, you will not be left stranded.  These jams are just as heavy as they are tuneful.  Forensic evidence?  Check out "The Monist" and "Ode to the Sun."  They are aural collisions that will corroborate your devotion to metal in all caps.  That's a weird sentence, but you know what I mean.

Naysayers persecute technical death metal for its lack of real songwriting.  It's true; most bands of this ilk just pound away at their instruments with no regard for the almighty hook.  Obscura is a rare exception to the rule.  Each track has its own identity, especially the 15-minute "Weltseele."  It's a little on the saggy side (my attention tends to wander halfway through), but it's a stellar composition all the same.  Fuck, I didn't mention miracle bassist Linus Klausenitzer.  Man, he fills out the sound.  Where does Kummerer keep finding these fretless freaks?  Abbath says, "What Dom is trying to say is that the musicianship is the opposite of bad.  He's going to give Akroasis a perfect rating, and he wants you to enjoy your evening."

Site Update

What the fuck am I doing?  Well, it has been too long since I posted a music review, so that will be next.  I actually have a couple in the furnace.  Maybe in between those ventures, I'll do another proper movie review.  I'm winging it.  I would love for this site to be more professional, but...it isn't.  I would love to post more updates, but...I can't?  God, that's so self-defeatist.  And glum.  I'm really just trying to depress you.

Don't forget to hit "like" and subscribe down below and follow me on InstaFace and check my Squish page and fuck my sister and share this video and share the next video and tell your friends and neglect your kids!  FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, FEED MY VOID!

Blood Capsule #60

ALL THE COLORS OF THE DARK (1972)

I chose a fanciful image for this capsule, but I wouldn't want to cozen you with misleading information.  This is not a vampire film.  The man you see is simply fuck-witted.  Sergio Martino's All the Colors of the Dark follows a girl recovering from a tragic car crash.  It's tragic because she lost her unborn child, and ever since the hatchback ditchwipe (I don't even), she has had increasingly startling nightmares.  After trying pills and hypnosis, she opts for the next obvious remedial treatment...a black mass!  And it doesn't take much to convince her.  She isn't, how you say, smart.  None of the characters are particularly brainy.  Or engaging.

An Italian/Spanish co-production, Colors is dressed up like a giallo, so I should have expected sterile cast profiles.  With the partial exception of lead sex peach Edwige Fenech, it doesn't seem as though any of the actors want to be there.  Their faces never move.  The visuals are surreal, but dapper dream sequences are meaningless if you don't connect with the protagonist(s).  I would suggest passing on this urbane stickler.  Then again, I'm not big on Martino.  Maybe you are.  Maybe I don't know how to end this canvass of scrutiny.  Maybe I should stop typing.

First the bad news....

Larry Drake has passed.  I don't have much to offer other than to say...fuck, that sucks.  He has been one of my favorite cult actors for well over a decade.  When you look at the versatility and the divergent nature of his characters, you realize that he was in Tim Curry's league.  That's rarefied air, folks.  The dude played a "simple" man-child, a psychotic Santa Claus, a facetious surgeon (pictured above) and Robert Durant.  He had several other memorable roles, but obviously, his work in the fields of horror and fantasy stuck to my ribs.  I will go to my grave beating the drum for Dr. Giggles.  And did you know that he starred in an episode of the reworked The Outer Limits?  It's entitled "The Message," and somehow, it has escaped my prying eyes.  I'll be rectifying that as soon as I finish this write-up.

Rest in peace, Mr. Drake.

Now the good news!  I just watched Pee-Wee's Big Holiday, a Netflix Original that premiered roughly 24 hours ago.  This was going to be a hard film to nail, considering nostalgic expectations and the singular tone of Pee-Wee's Big Adventure.  I am here to tell you that writers Paul Reubens and Paul Rust (not to mention director John Lee, harvester of warped Adult Swim content) nailed it.  This flick is FUN.  I would actually describe it as "feelgood," and that's not a term I use every day.  Honestly, I wasn't expecting many laughs, but a couple of scenes violated my funny bone.  The balloon!

The cast is splendid, the characters are splendid (I heart Pepper) and the 50's throwbacks are splendid.  I don't see throngs of 80's kids being disappointed.  Or 90's kids.  I would say more, but you just need to watch it for yourself.  If that means signing up for Netflix, do it!  No, I don't work for Netflix.  "Happy Birthday, Joe!"

Hand Tossed

House IV is underrated.  Revisited it yesterday.  Just ate pizza.  Reminded me of said film.  That is all.

The Heir is Contaminated

I haven't read any reviews of 10 Cloverfield Lane yet, but I did see it Saturday.  Here is my prediction of the general consensus.  Just an educated guess.  Most fans will totally dig it.  They will ennoble and give a posy to every cast member, especially John Goodman.  Aside from a second or two, I didn't think of Dan Connor once; that's for goddamn sure.  They will remark that the suspense is lean.  They will even say that the CGI is above board.  Ah, the special effects.  They denote sci-fi ingredients, don't they?  Fret not.  I am not going to spoil anything.  Thankfully, this film is easy to discuss without divulging details.

I predict that a healthy number of theater patrons will grow impatient waiting for...y'know, monster stuff.  It's there.  And I liked it, but it only accounts for 20 of 103 minutes.  Eh, that didn't vex me too much, but the climax did feel afterthought-y.  Was this a pre-existing script remodeled into a Cloverfield companion piece?  What is the link between the two movies?  Will this come to be an anthology series?  All insistent questions, but by and large, I enjoyed the hell out of 10 Cloverfield Lane.  Hats off to first-time feature director Dan Trachtenberg who knows his way around a camera.  There is no conceivable way I can smoothly transition into wrestling.

WWE Roadblock was surprisingly harmonious.  Is it just me or did it have the vibe of an NXT: Takeover bash?  I'm not just saying that because of the NXT tag title match, which rocked.  I know it's Canada, but that's the crowd reaction you want.  Charlotte and Natalya tore the house down.  In spite of the finish (I really, really wanted Dean to pick up the victory), the main event was spectacular.  Match of the Year contender, easily.  Man, I hope they have something uber-cool planned for the Trips/Roman scuffle at Wrestlemania.  I think they do.  I think it will involve a club of some sort.

Beasties

This is a movie.  And I watched it.  I'm conflicted as to how proud I should be to own a copy of 1991's Beasties.  I wish I owned it on VHS, but it was only distributed onto 200 tapes.  That was 25 years ago, so if you are lucky enough to own a copy, fuck you.  Fuck you and fuck your sister, the diseased whore.  Er, I mean, bravo!  Hmm, I guess I am proud to own Beasties after all.  It's a b-movie in the truest sense.  I probably could have subsidized the project with what I collect in Social Security, and yes, I scrounge off of taxpayers.  I'm too lazy to work, baby.  Does the svelte, acicular budget impair this smokeshow's entertainment value?  That is the question.  I felt entertained.  Curiously, I was more magnetized to the gumpish characters than I was to the sci-fi/horror elements.

About those sci-fi/horror elements...the story puts a traditional foot forward as we open on couples making out in cars.  Do these geographic "hot spots" exist in modern times?  I swear, I've never heard a real-life reference to Make Out Point or some shit.  Anyway, teenagers are bombarded by Ghoulie-sized imps.  I'll pause the synopsis to comment on our title assailants.  They look fucking cool, but their movement is so stiff, you might as well have the puppeteer in front of the camera.  Waving.  Alas, resources did not present themselves.  I'm still scoring brownie Z'Dars for the creature designs and the fact that there are 4-5 different beasties.  Unpause!  We cut to a fresh batch of awkward adolescents on a double date.

Pause!  Okay, this review is going to be longer than I had anticipated.  Because I bought the DVD, I watched the uncut version.  Writer/director Steven Contreras appended 20 minutes to the beginning of the film.  The ocelot's share (that's right; I went with an alternative cat) of the supplementary footage is mere character development.  In my cheap opinion, this bonus hang time benefits Beasties, although I can understand getting fidgety during the talky-talk.  Prototypical college nerd Nelson is a gas.  He knows everything, yet doesn't seem to realize that falling in love with a 15-year-old (in a matter of hours, no less) is highly inappropriate.  Goth pest Hammerhead is the least intimidating bully this side of Nelson.  From The Simpsons, that is.

There is a whole goth gang, and they're just adorable.  Somehow, they become allied with the central baddie, a diabolical space wizard named Osires (pronounced "Osiris").  No, really.  Osires knows of Nelson by virtue of them being arch enemies since the dawn of time...?  Of course, none of the plot specifics are annotated for the viewer.  I'm deliberately leaving out the uranology and the speedball of a twist ending.  Beasties carries a flaky, surreal aura that reminded me of Winterbeast.  I think I halfway dug it.  Y'know, even for a z-grade acid trip shot on 8mm, it's not well-forged.  The fight choreography is piss, and God, the kinda-sorta digital effects.  God.

Why did I dig it again?  Oh, right.  The dialogue is hysterical, the namesake goblins (not hob) are neat, the baseless nudity is baseless and it follows a spunky 50's formula.  Imagine The Blob wainscoted with an 80's crust.  I forgot to mention that Beasties was produced in 1989, despite smacking video shelves two years later.  It's an alright sit, man.  TRIVIA: Pianos.

NXT Live Events > Raw

Gratuitous picture of Emma is gratuitous.  I'll allow it.  I didn't get around to writing about NXT or Lucha Underground this past week, but Roadblock falls on Saturday night.  I'll talk about that on either Sunday or Monday.  Can I just say that I love the fact that an NXT tag title defense was added to the card?  Because aside from HHH/Ambrose, Roadblock is looking pretty sorry.  Reigns versus Sheamus?  That's almost cruel.  I'm hoping that WWE will swerve us and give Ambrose an upset victory.  You want "buzz" heading into Wrestlemania.  The Lunatic Fringe as champion will create "buzz," with or without quotation marks.

On a sidenote, we're starting to see more female wrestling on LU.  A simple suggestion, if I may...next season, drop the Gift of the Gods title and replace it with a women's title.  Bring in a few extra chicas.  Make the division prestigious.  Just spitballing here.  Anyway, I'll be posting a movie review in the coming days/decades.  You can hardly contain yourself!

My Top 5 Undertaker Matches

I kept going back and forth on this one.  Not on the sequencing of the matches; no, that's all sorted.  I wasn't sure whether to post the list here or on the Random Reviews Facebook "fan club."  I'm trying to make the fan club (yes, I call it that to amuse myself) a hub of sorts for like-minded individuals.  Fuck it.  I can do other stuff there.  Later.  Did you know that Daddy procrastinates?  HAHAHA.

You may not be aware (I don't fucking know you), but The Undertaker is my favorite professional wrestler of all time.  Bar none.  Due to the indwelling limitations of the character, 'Taker didn't start having upper-crust matches until the mid-90's.  Make no mistake, Mark Calaway was a great worker all the while.  But remember, he was playing a zombie mortician who couldn't feel pain (oh, and he could summon lightning at will).  It wouldn't have made sense in the years following his debut to add flourishes such as MMA submissions and amateur-style throws to his repertoire.  I can't see McMahon at the commentary booth in 1993 shouting, "What a triangle choke by The Phenom!  We understand he learned that move in the nebulous expanse between life and death!"

Of course, I still love those early matches.  That shit's dope.  I'm holding out hope, however futile, that The Lord of Darkness will bring back the gray tie and gloves for his last bout (don't forget the body bag).  Having said that, my top five 'Taker fights are all from 1996 and beyond.

#5 - The Undertaker vs. Diesel (Wrestlemania XII)

These two power forwards had the advantage of feeling out their Mania encounter at dozens (okay, two dozen...at the most) of house shows leading up to the event.  That could never happen today, but it helped streamline the pace of the match.  Everything is smooth and deliberate.  Believe it or not, there are moments of suspense here and there.  The pre-Mania storyline build was great, as it featured the first instance of The Undertaker tearing through the ring mat from below in glorious Nathan Grantham fashion.  You should get that reference, Bedelia.

#4 - The Undertaker vs. Bret Hart (Summerslam '97)

In my opinion, 1997 was 'Taker's best year on record.  Physically, he was in peak shape.  He also grabbed the world title at Mania and proceeded to put on show-stealers at pretty much every PPV that mattered (not to mention a handful of Raw episodes).  Bret Hart is a sentimental fav(orite).  I could watch his matches all day long.  So it goes without saying that thirty minutes of action between the two WWF stalwarts ossifies my Italian chicory.  Shawn Michaels is the special guest referee.  That will be a recurring theme, you'll notice.  Here again, the pacing is finely tuned.  I love the little touches like 'Taker calmly exiting the ring to clamp down on interference.  That's what a badass would do.

#3 - The Undertaker vs. Shawn Michaels (Wrestlemania XXVI)

This is the controversial pick.  The majority of die-hards would have one of the HBK Mania matches sitting pretty at #1.  And they would probably go with Mania 25, as opposed to Mania 26.  If I'm being honest, this is my meek, slithery way of calling it a draw.  For me, 26 edges out 25 because of pacing.  There's that word again!  They're both outstanding, but...actually, I watched 26 last.  That's why I'm casting my ballot for 26.  Who am I kidding?  If you're a bit of a wrestling outsider, watch 25 and 26.  God, this has been a bitch to write with any sense of flow or lilting meter.  Don't you come to this website for lilting meter?

#2 - The Undertaker vs. Triple H (Wrestlemania XXVIII)

With Shawn Michaels as special guest referee!  These three men have been inexorably tied to one another since the New Generation Era, so this Hell in a Cell engagement was billed as "The End of an Era."  It was fairly goddamn epic.  I rank it high for its storytelling, which is always the most important aspect of a match.  Towards the end, it becomes emotional.  That spot where HBK superkicks The Deadman into a pedigree, nearly assisting in the end of the streak.  Knowing he came close to fucking over someone he respects more than anyone else on the roster.  Conflicted by his duty as a supposedly unbiased ref and his allegiance to his best friend.  It's still real to me, damn it!

#1 - The Undertaker vs. Shawn Michaels (Badd Blood '97)

Bad(d) with two deez!  D's.  Ds.  Dees?  No, that's not it.  Anyway, I've gushed over this rumpus elsewhere (it might have been in the fan club, as a matter of fact), but I'll try to string a couple of sentences together that convey my adoration for the first - and best - Hell in a Cell melee.  Flawless storytelling.  I'm going to type that again, this time in all caps.  FLAWLESS STORYTELLING.  More than one angle is paid off, and yes, the climax sees the debut of Kane.  As a teenager, I preferred Kane to his older half-brother.  Yep, this match is slopped with "mark out" moments.  I fucking love it.  They use the entire structure to its fullest potential, stopping just short of rigging it with explosives.  And that piledriver on the steel steps!  Goodness me.

You're not getting a prologue.