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.

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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.

Album Cover of the Whatever

Now that's a goddamn album cover!  I love the bubblegum gore.  This is Hordes of the Apocalypse.  The EP is The Melting Body Horror Experience.  You can listen to it HERE, and apparently, it was recorded (and written?) earlier this month.  Jesus!  That's fast-tracking it.  It begins with the theme song of The Green Slime, so it's definitely worth checking out.

UPDATE: These bastards have released three EP's (I probably don't need the apostrophe) this year!

Taya Yellow Ribbon 'Round Dat Ass

On Wednesday night, Taya Valkyrie FINALLY made her Lucha Underground debut.  Over the past year, I've become a fan of her work after discovering that she was the main chick down in AAA.  She's smooth in the ring.  Her body is candy bacon, as far as I'm concerned.  Toned bacon, where all the fat deposits have dripped off and only the luscious flavor remains.  Gulp.  Unfortunately, she didn't wrestle, but I dig the way she was introduced.  It looks like she'll be paired with Johnny Mundo.  I can't wait to see the wreckage they effectuate and later outdistance.

Aside from the main event, E5 (that's "episode five," hombre) of S2 (if that's not self-explanatory, you probably have grandchildren) was a peak/valley batter.  Strong matches, but that's a given with this show.  The only problem that LU could encounter is picking the wrong talent to spotlight.  That's essentially what happened here when Texano tangled with The Crew and...Chavo Guerrero.  Look, nothing against him or the Guerrero clan, but I'd love to see a homogeneous focus on fresh, exciting talent.  That's what makes Twitter pop.  "Twitter?  What the fuck, bro?  You going soft on us?"  Hey, in this case, I care about social media impressions because LU (and by extension, El Ray) needs them.  I want it to keep doing well.

Chavo just strikes me as boring.  Because he's boring.  You know what isn't boring?  This segue!  NXT was spearheaded by a women's tag team match.  Pros - Bayley and Carmella.  Cons - The not-quite-there Nia Jax and the not-even-close Eva Marie.  I must say, I'm perplexed by their booking of the latter two ladies, but at the same time, Bayley has to feud with someone until she faces a serious threat to her title.  And it's going to be a lengthy reign.  She is rumored to be battling Asuka (!!!) at the imminent Takeover event, but outside of Emma, no one else approaches Bayley's level.  Yet.

America Alpha versus Blake & Murphy was fucking sick.  The tag division is nuts.  Unless they're being called up in the next month, Enzo & Cass need to win the straps, and I can't believe they haven't already.  Are they seen as above the gold in NXT?  That could very well be the reason why they are not champions.  Shifting gears, we get Shinsuke Nakamura next week!  Don't forget to hit "Like," and if you enjoyed this video, please subscr...wait.  I don't do that.

PS ~ So Catrina can teleport now.  Alrighty.  I'll go with the flow; just don't empty me out into Flint, Michigan.  Too soon?  Too dated?  This is hard.

Like, how wet are we talking here?

I had originally planned to do a full review of 1964's Seance on a Wet Afternoon.  Alas, I've been getting a lot of headaches lately.  Maybe tension headaches, but I'm beginning to wonder if I have migraines.  Or if my neck is simply kaput.  Either way, I haven't been in a typing mood, but I wanted to say something about Seance because it's a really, really good movie.  It doesn't qualify as a true creepshow, but it does float over the same sylvan sod as the all-steamrolling horror genre.  Nowadays, it would be a "psychological thriller."  And it is, so I wouldn't have much room to complain.

Kim Stanley is gobsmackingly astounding as Myra, a "psychic" who plots the kidnapping of a little girl and angles to use her "gift" in the media to "find" the missing child.  "Quotation marks."  Richard Attenborough is utterly convincing as the husband who reluctantly plays along, but is Myra really the one in control?  If you're cool with talky expositions that stay the course, you'll bask in Seance's atmospheric glory.  I recommend.  Would moisten.  I'm off to watch a bunch of wrestling...hmm, perhaps a spin of Seance's Saltrubbed Eyes is in order.

Def by Temptation

I never thought I'd review a James Bond film, but here I am doing just that.  Technically, it's actor/writer/director James Bond III, but who's keeping track?  His Def by Temptation helped resuscitate blaxploitation in 1990.  To a point.  I mean, very few people have heard of this slender-budgeted succubus spectacle.  Ha!  I'm still slaying the alliteration game.  Anyway, this wedge of urban horror didn't have a whopping splash radius, so I could forgive you for just now hearing of it.  It was distributed on home video (y'know, at your local retailer) by Troma.  Wait, don't click away!  Temptation doesn't carry jumentous Troma fumes.  It's not without fault, but I wouldn't hesitate to file it under "pleasant surprises."

Horse urine.  I'm saving you the trouble of opening a dictionary (like you would physically open a dictionary; give me a break).  Describing something as "jumentous" is tantamount to saying that it reeks of horse urine.  Look, I'm trying to edify inner city youths.  I'm the Coach fucking Carter of genre journalism.  Speaking of which, Samuel L. Jackson has a bit part in tonight's subject as an abusive priest.  The stars of the showboat are James Bond III and Kadeem Hardison.  You might recognize the latter as Dwayne Wayne from A Different World, a sitcom that I watched fairly religiously as a brat.  Here, he isn't too far off from "Dwayne Wayne" mode.  NOTE: I am always in "Dwayne Wayne" mode.

The acting is sturdy.  Bond's performance is subtle and believable, a revelation I did not see coming.  He plays Joel, a naive minister compelled to leave his hometown to find...well, himself.  He shacks up with K (that's his name), his pal from yesteryear.  Meanwhile, an alluring coquette is taking men home from bars and tearing them apart.  Is there a link between Joel and our killer minx?  Obviously.  I'll forgo the rest of the synopsis for fear of disclosing too much information.  I enjoyed Temptation, but it gets off on a tottery foot.  The editing in the first ten minutes is atrocious.  We jump from location to location and it's not quite clear if we're also jumping from decade to decade.  Bond (the third, that is) doesn't handle flashbacks with refinement.

Thankfully, he picked Ernest R. Dickerson to be his cinematographer.  I'm a fan.  Dickerson helmed Tales From the Crypt: Demon Knight and the woefully underrated Bones.  Every picture he has touched is cloaked in gossamer, eye-catching visuals.  Def by Temptation is no exception, what with its bold dream sequences and flashy lighting.  The special effects are a mixed bag, but I will say that the she-demon's final form is shuddersome.  One critic was overheard exclaiming, "Damn, that bitch is creepy!"  It was me.  I was broadcasting the fact that said ghoul gave me the fidgets.  I can neither confirm nor deny that she then proceeded to give me the willies.  My family requests that the media allow us our privacy during this difficult time.

The characters are rich and layered.  Again, my expectations were exceeded.  It's a shame that Bond decided against revisiting fright fare, as it seems he has a knack for it.  Hey, you only live twice.  Robert Z'Dar says, "Whitley was a cocktease.  What did Dwayne see in her?"

NXT Underground

I'd like to start a weekly feature where I talk about the two best wrestling shows in North America.  They both air on Wednesday nights.  Obviously, one of them is Lucha Underground.  The other is NXT.  I'd love to be able to "review" them on Thursdays, but sometimes, it takes me a day or two to watch them.  The fact that they both start at 8pm isn't the problem.  The problem is that I don't get El Ray thanks to DirectTV changing their price packages with no provocation.  Fuckers.  So I'll try to have it up as soon as possible.

PS-That's not The Creeper from Jeepers Creepers.  It's Drago.  He's cool.

Blood Capsule #59

KOMODO (1999)

There was a brief window after Anaconda where "nature runs amok" CGI fests were not a daily occurrence.  All too brief, as a matter of fact.  Komodo slithered in at the tail end of that wrinkle.  A bundle of lizard eggs - I'm sorry - dragon eggs are dumped on the coast of North Carolina (joy, we're associated with this flick).  Twenty years later, these komodo kunts are BIG and BAD.  Actually, komodo monitors are very large carnivores, but it should go without saying that Komodo ratchets up their size and bloodlust.  Only-time director Michael Lantieri doesn't use CGI as a crutch.  We get plenty of puppets, but you know what?  The digital trickery is rather respectable.  I don't have any complaints about the visual effects department.

I do have complaints about the capricious tone of the film.  Komodo is saddled with heavy histrionics, and at times, it feels like a drama with disproportionate lizards in the background.  It doesn't have any fun with itself.  The script is too busy frowning.  Believe it or not ("I'm walking on air"), that saps the energy from the finished product.  I still give it a gentle recommendation.  The action sequences are endowed, the cast is savvy (former Law & Order regular Jill Hennessy is a bright spot) and as I said earlier, those dang ol' reptile revolutionaries are slick customers.  That's Komodo.  Coming soon to video.

The other topics of interest...

So lately, I've been focusing on movie reviews because that's my comfort zone.  It's what I do best.  Obviously, movies aren't the only puddles that we skip across here at RR Inc.  There is also MEHTALZ and WRASSLIN'.  Since I changed my "update schedule," I haven't bothered with other topics of interest, but that ends now.  I'm going to utilize the fan club to do stuff that's been rattling around in the back of my head.  Starting Monday, I will count down my top five favorite Opeth songs.  It won't be easy, as Mikey and the boys have ruled my inner roost for fifteen years now, give or take.  What's that?  You haven't joined the club?

Just click HERE.  Then click "Join" near the top where it says...uh, join.  I might do a new list each week plus whatever else I feel like posting.

The Red Queen Kills Seven Times

It seems like centuries ago, but when I first caught wind of 1972's The Red Queen Kills Seven Times, I wanted to watch and review it immediately.  It looked too rad to be real.  Clearly, I wasn't able to see it that very second.  There were false starts in profusion.  Everything from disappearing auctions (yes, I tried to watch it the legit way, and it would have cost me a pretty penny) to torrents that contained corrupted files.  I even had the 35mm reels in my possession, but my dog ate them!  Okay, that's a lie.  I just wanted to make this story a little more exciting.  In any event, I finally had brunch with this damn film.  You probably have a few questions.  What was it that made me want to catch this urinary tract infection?  And was it worth the maddening hunt?

Red Queen is a giallo directed and co-written by Emilio Miraglia, the gentleman who brought us 1971's The Night Evelyn Came Out of the Grave.  I don't remember where I heard the title, but I was sold on the trailer.  Fuck plot; the imagery alone vellicated the dorsal root ganglia in my nervous system.  First of all, the red queen herself is one creepy squaw.  She wears a red cape and a pale mask.  The mask reminded me of Curtains, while the cape...motherfuck, if George Costanza taught the world anything, it's that you never trust a person in a cape.  I'm not convinced that Estelle wasn't cheating on Frank.  I mean, what kind of lawyer...oy vey, I need to stamp out this tangent.  Forgive me.  We'll compare Seinfeld notes some other time, you and I.

As little girls, sisters Kitty and Evelyn were told of The Red Queen and The Black Queen, sisters themselves.  Red stabbed Black seven times.  Every hundred years since this brutal slaying, Red appears (eerily dressed, of course) in the castle to claim seven lives, the same castle that Kitty inhabits with her grandfather.  Where is Evelyn?  Dead.  And yet, (The) Red (Queen) has been spotted roving the hallways and cackling into the night.  Is Evelyn's ghost pissed off?  Is someone trying to mindfuck Kitty?  Did I eat one too many cupcakes this morning?  Valid questions.  For the first hour, I was fixated on the screen.  Red Queen was shaping up to be everything I wanted it to be.  Atmospheric?  Check.  Unnerving?  Check.  Stylish?  Check.  Bloody?  Check.

The first death sequence - discounting flashbacks - is irreproachable.  I'm talking Bava-level, folks.  There are oodles of shots that will stay with you like a pockmark on your soul.  However, the final act (to be precise, the final 40 minutes) crumbles.  The mystery angle gets bogged down by extraneous characters and a resolution that doesn't quite gel.  I was hoping this flick would rise above stock giallo tendencies, but nope, the ending is a convoluted mess.  I won't elaborate for fear of spoiling an obscure plum of a potlatch that you should definitely check out.  Due to the killer's costume, it smells of cockeyed slasherdom.  So that's sweet.  I just wish it was as badass as it could have been.  The dubbing isn't horrible, but I wouldn't mind subtitles.  Sorry, random observation.

I went back and forth on the rating.  I'm giving it four Z'Dars, but boy, that's tenuous.  I'm erring on the side of affirmative willingness because The Red Queen Kills Seven Times is different.  For the most part, this isn't your standard "black gloves" giallo.  It never comes up in discussions of Italian horror imports.  What's that all about, LUIGI?

Slimy Little Bastards

Disclaimer!  I know the director of 2015's Slimy Little Bastards, but only in an online sense.  We are cordial.  We fucked ONCE.  Once!  Dave (or Mr. Parker, if you prefer), I don't even know you that well, and I shouldn't have to defend myself, buuuut the fact that our time together was earth-shattering (both physically and emotionally) does not grant you a license to stalk.  Do I enjoy being stalked?  Yes.  Knock it off anyway, or I'll be forced to contact a constable.  That said, this guy is a fan of "'small creature" flicks.  You know the type...Gremlins, Critters, Ghoulies, Born on the Fourth of July, Hobgoblins, Beasties, et al.  Slimy Little Bastards is his encomium to said features.  Parker is well-intentioned, but I found the scene where Mama Bloomer burns an effigy of Harvey Korman to be in poor taste.  We get it.  No one enjoyed Munchies.

That paragraph was entirely too long.  In addition to being a "small creature" vehicle, this jamboree is an anthology.  You people know I'm big on dat shit.  Bastards is comprised of three vignettes plus the requisite wrap-around story.  A man's car breaks down, so he knocks on a door in the hopes of appealing to someone's beneficent nature.  Well, he knocked on the wrong door.  A mad goon donning a red cape answers, and he doesn't seem to be in a hurry to help our weary traveler.  The goon is credited as The Curator.  He has a collection of jars that house shapeless things floating in brightly colored liquids.  Blue, orange, green...y'know, colors.  Why the hell did I list examples of colors?  Jesus.

You could probably guess where this is going.  The Curator spins a yarn for each container - or rather, the thing IN each container.  I'm fucking spooked!  All kidding aside, I dig passion projects.  It's readily apparent that the cast and crew care about what they're doing.  This isn't a masterpiece.  I think Parker is aware of that, and he does an admirable job of disbursing the elements at his disposal.  I'm underselling the finished product, but a couple of items rocked my tortellini.  The soundtrack is marvelous.  Of course, it's super-duper "80's," but it's more diverse than one would expect.  I must also laud Brandon Salkil for his crazed, enthusiastic performance as The Curator.  How can you not respect the decision to channel Vincent Price?

Hmm, I might as well impart a few words on the vignettes themselves.  "Organic Shit" is a great title, but if I'm being honest (I said if; I could be lying about everything), it's my least favorite of the slimeball triad.  "Brain Busters" handles the tale of a shady, shifty-eyed psychotherapist with pill-popping tact.  I'm not sure what that means.  The bizarre plot brought Frank Henenlotter to mind (namely Brain Damage).  I'd say that "Crusties" is the most well-rounded short here.  The evil frog is boss.  I don't want to shit on the effects, so...I won't.  This is a true no-budgeter.  If you purchase Slimy Little Bastards, you know what kind of goop you're stepping into.  In a way, this project is review-proof.  "Then why review it, Dom?"  Because, you yawping shithead, I support the underground where I can.  Death to false bastards!

Dom Meets The Were-Newcomer

This is another blog-esque post.  Don't worry (you're not worried); the next thing I write will be a normal review.  I was going to review 1988's Alien Nation, but when you sleep through 30 minutes of it and you don't feel like mounting a second survey of the landscape, you opt to chat about it instead.  See how informal this is?  I'm naked.  You're naked.  We're just having fun!  I wish I owned the box set that contains all of the Alien Nation made-for-TV movies.  Of course, there was also a TV series that ran for a single season.  For a transient moment, this shit was a big deal, but it's not remembered very well in modern times.  You would never guess that it was somewhat successful and well-received.

The inculcation began with this theater-bound sci-fi feature set in Los Angeles three years after a spaceship lands in the Mojave Desert.  The aliens reveal themselves to be escaped slaves from Jupiter.  Actually, I don't remember the name of the planet, but I know it wasn't Earth.  It's amazing how relevant Alien Nation is in 2016.  The "newcomers" are treated as if they were Syrian refugees.  They're even disobliged with hate speech (the term "slag" is used as degrading impudence).  I'm inclined to believe that it would take longer than three years for some of them to hold down jobs such as mayor and police detective, but I'm willing to let that nagging hurdle slide.

I dug Mandy Patinkin as Sam Francisco, star fuzz.  James Caan is dandy as Detective Sykes, but let's be honest.  He plays grizzled cops in his daydreams.  In my daydreams, I play a transgender gondolier whose gondola has been abducted by the Korean mafia.  They want five billion dollars, dickpuke!  That's what they call me.  Dickpuke.  Um, Alien Nation is pretty entertaining.  I can only vouch for, like, an hour of it, but that's a majority.

It's so ironic that you asked me about aliens and shit, Tom.  I've been keeping an eye on the new season of The X-Files.  It wasn't beloved, but I enjoyed the premiere, despite the crushing plot holes.  The second episode fizzled.  In my opinion, El Episado Numera Three (holy shit, that was needlessly racist...my apologies) has been the alp of the "comeback."  Most fans tend to agree.  Writer/director Devin Morgan hammered his trademark humor into the script.  I love it when Mulder and Scully goof off.  It's clear that the cast is having a grand time.  Did the fanservice bother me?  Y'know, the fantasy sequence where Scully feigns the role of a sexpot?  No, it did not.

Oh, and the story is ridiculously clever.  If you're not watching along with the rest of the cool kids, then guess what?  You're not a cool kid!

I bet Skeletron did it...

This is just a general update.  I've watched a wide variety of things over the past few days.  I want to hone in on a couple of those things (here's my review of Things while I'm thinking about things).  Turbo Kid just missed out on my Top 5 of 2015 list, as I wasn't able to pack in a viewing under my self-imposed deadline.  It turns out that I happen to love it.  Apple might be one of my favorite characters in the last ten years.  She is relentlessly beaming, and it would be irritating if not for the shrewd dialogue and Laurence Laboeuf's dialed-in performance.  Because of the comic book gore (not to mention the 80's affectations), Turbo Kid has an Astron-6 vibe to it.  I've read allusions to Troma, but no.  No.

It's brutally lightweight.  That's the best description I can muster.  I would trot out a synopsis, but why?  You know that you're going to watch it (if you haven't already, that is).  I felt like it was my civic goddamn duty to sit down with Netflix's Making a Murderer.  Here is what I recently said about it on Facebook:

"Okay, okay, okay...I started watching Making a Murderer. Like, I just started episode three. What the fuck? Hallbach has been presumed dead, Avery is arrested, I know he's still in jail...and there are still seven full episodes left??? That's seven hours! Why should I keep watching? Is there something super juicy I need to know? Is there super juice? Are there fucking zombies in episode eight? DOES THE WOMAN FROM 1985 UNRAPE HERSELF?"

I later wondered if it was all a dream.  Anyway, I hope you can taste my disbelief.  How could there be enough content for that many more episodes?  I totally understand why this series became a nationwide phenomenon, but at this point, you don't need to digest the whole collation (unless you're super, super curious).  Hell, Wikipedia will catch you up.  On the subject of the actual case(s), they are disconcerting displays of power abuse.  I haven't absorbed enough to form an opinion on Avery's culpability in regards to his murder charges, but it wouldn't be a shock to the system to discover that he is innocent.  More at eleven.

I'll be back when I'm back.  Hey, if anyone wants to gift me a copy of 1994's Hellbound on VHS, please get in touch.  Wink, wink.