Wednesday, October 1, 2014

Bad Medicine

It is the first of October, and we who possess souls made of Autumn demand the proper mood. We spend all year listening to rotted leaves blow around inside of the mournful church of our skulls. We have cold rain in our blood, woodsmoke in our hair, ghosts in our lungs. For us, Autumn is no mere season and Halloween no silly superficial holiday to be appeased with offerings of cheap plastic mockeries of death or mass produced candy in garish wrappers. This is the most sacred time of the year for those of us who do not fear the darkness, because we were born with it in our bones. Colorful butterflies may break free of their cocoons in the spring with the first touch of true summer heat, but we blossom under the dark moon, relish the cold night air and know that every leaf that curls up and drifts down to the ground is providing us with a red carpet on which to make our entrance into Autumn, the only season that truly understands us.

This is the time of year when the tawdry barkers come out in force, offering us pitiful handfuls of false darkness. They set up shop on every corner, hawking their wares and telling us it is the Real Thing. Horror movie sequels fresh off the assembly line, flimsy decorations, pumpkin flavored everything, all of it on display at your local drugstore at BOGO prices! It looks like Autumn, but it's just tacky candy dust which dissolves in the first hard rain and blows away with the first cold gusts. We remain, because we are made of stronger stuff.

And we hunger for true sustenance, ever seeking the solid fare that will warm us through the winter.

Those of you who know damn good and well what I'm talking about are not the same people who are dying with anticipation for Paranormal Activity part 7 & 3/4. They're not rushing out to see Annabelle, brought to you by the same pimps people who brought you last years Halloween turd The Conjuring. We'd just as soon purchase those terrible little onesie costumes from K-Mart and take our kids to the mall to go Trick Or Treating. That's not Halloween. That's the PG version of Halloween, sanitized and made safe and wholesome by people who fear the darkness and are incapable of truly appreciating its beauty.

Fuck that pussy shit.

We want our horror to be made by people who love horror as much as we do, not by milk-cow moochers who simply want to make a quick buck. We want our horror to have heart and soul, even though the heart may be ripped out and still pulsing in a puddle of blood and the soul charred black and smoking as it is pulled down to Hell. Especially if!

You know who knows horror? Lives it, breathes it, understands it and embraces it?
This chick.
<-------------------
Yeah, that one over there with the gaping cunt in her throat.
That's Barbie Wilde.

She's no cheap barker at the entrance of the freak show, telling you what you want to hear and holding her hand out for your quarter. She is the freak show, buddy - the sword swallowing, fire eating, tattooed lion taming belly dancing living dead girl. And she - along with a number of her similarly natured friends - are mad to get their new film project off the ground.

Birmingham-based film company, Venomous Little Man (“VLM”) are looking for investors for their next project, as they prepare to shoot and produce their next motion picture.
BAD MEDICINE is a feature length psychological horror film in the same vein as THE TWILIGHT ZONE and Hammer Horror Movies. The film is a horror portmanteau featuring five short films bound together by a wrap-around story. The story takes place in a modern day psychiatric unit where a group therapy session is being held by the enigmatic therapist Dr Slade (HELLRAISER II’S Barbie Wilde). 

As each person tells their horrific and shocking story, Dr Slade captures it on her voice recorder ready to decipher what it is that keeps each person trapped in their own psyche in order for her to save them.  At least, that is what she tells her staff ...

With filming scheduled to start in December 2014 in and around Birmingham, BAD MEDICINE was written by Amazon #1 bestselling horror author DAVE JEFFERY, and is the follow-up to the highly successful ASCENSION, which scooped the “Best Director” gong at the 2013 Bram Stoker Film Festival for JAMES HART.

Guys.
This movie NEEDS to be made.
It's not just a horror movie, it's an honest to god slice of celluloid darkness, being made by people with the same Autumn sensibilities as us. They know what horror is and is not. Aren't you getting sick of the same old shit over and over again, made by slick, glossy fat cats who think that a jumpscare every 20 minutes is real horror? No. NO! Don't you want to see something fresh and meaningful, made by people who truly love the genre and don't see it as a machine to be oiled up once a year? I know I do. I'm sick to death of stale leftovers. I want horror to be the way I remember it being when I was a kid - serious, mature, dangerous as Trick Or Treating by yourself, holding out your pillowcase for a razor blade apple. Man, that's what the season was all about - walking right up to the dark unknown and daring it to damage you. 


For more information on how to be a part of this exciting new project,
simply visit www.venomouslittleman.co.uk or contact VLM at: venomouslittlemanproductions@hotmail.co.uk
http://www.indiegogo.com/projects/bad-medicine-movie—2

VLM can be found on Twitter: @VLM_Productions
And the Bad Medicine dedicated movie page on FaceBook



There are 30 days left to fund this movie. 
30 DAYS.
So take that pocket change you were going to blow on yet another cheapshit paper witch to hang in the window, or another bag of fun sized Snickers and throw it at this movie instead. It will last a lot longer than those stupid plastic bagful of spider rings, three for a dollar.

Sunday, September 28, 2014

Single White Weirdo


I'm single.
44 and single.
Almost got married. Twice. Dodged both bullets.
I've pretty much given up on traditional "dating." No point, really. I don't want kids, and I can't be bothered playing wifey: I dislike cooking and the very idea of me in a frothy wedding dress? Yeah, I wouldn't be able to keep a straight face at the altar. Fuck that. I'm better off on my own.

I've tried out a few dating sites, but quickly became disillusioned. The guys on there...yeesh! Needy, whiny little cling-on crybabies, guys who fully expect you to immediately supply them with "n00ds" and/or jerks who try and pull that whole "I'm psychologically superior to you" bullshit, i.e. I'll be really nice to you at first and then subtly start insulting you and making you think you need me because I'm an insecure little toadie with a substandard penis. Nice try, fuckwit. That shit doesn't work on me.

I’m good at being single. I never have to wear make-up or fix my hair, I don’t own a single pair of high heels, I hog the bed, I make Pop-Tarts for dinner and my idea of getting gussied up is to wear matching pajama tops and bottoms. 99.9 percent of the time, I am perfectly content with this arrangement.
But every once in a great while, I wish there was a guy around. Someone to open jars and squash spiders and provide me with at least an hours worth of orgasms.
And here’s where it gets weird. You see, I’m not much for pretty boys. I like my guys deformed, armed and really angry. Extra points if they’re undead. I want my man to slaughter the cheerleading squad for me on our anniversary. I want the competition to flee in horror at the sight of his face, therefore leaving me with no competition.
But for some odd reason, I just never run across ads like these when I surf the online dating sites:


NAME: Pinhead
AGE: Really fucking old
LOCATION: His own Hell
OCCUPATION: Demon/Angel, depending
ETHNICITY: White. VERY white. Like Michael Jackson, but not as scary.
BODY TYPE: Seriously into scarification and piercings
HEIGHT: 6 feet 6 inches (height includes pin length)
PROS: Exclusive access to the world’s best S&M dungeons.
CONS: Has trouble administering oral.
NAME: Eddie Quist
LOCATION: Tehachapi, CA.
OCCUPATION: Mangler, sketch artist, #1 Smiley Face sticker fan.
AGE: 28
ETHNICITY: Lycanthrope
BODY TYPE: Hairy
HEIGHT: 6 foot, humanoid. 7+ foot werewolf.
PROS: Loves porn
CONS: Often confuses “orgasm” with “evisceration.”

NAME: Radu Vladislas
LOCATION: Romania
OCCUPATION: Phlebotomist
AGE: Somewhere between Jesse Helms and God
ETHNICITY: Dead
BODY TYPE: Unbaked bread dough
HEIGHT: 5 foot 9
PROS: Comes with own castle!
CONS: Suffers from acute sialorrhea. Also, fingerbanging is absolutely out of the question.

NAME: Jason Voorhees
LOCATION: Crystal Lake
OCCUPATION: Camp bouncer.
AGE: Terminally 11 (boys mature slower)
ETHNICITY: Freak
BODY TYPE: Big McLargeHuge
HEIGHT: 6 foot 2
PROS: Owns own cabin in woods with lakeside view
CONS: Momma’s boy.

NAME: Freddy Krueger
LOCATION: In your dreams
OCCUPATION: Cutlery salesman, child molestor, test subject for flame retardant clothing.
AGE: 37
ETHNICITY: Well done
BODY TYPE: Extra Crispy
HEIGHT: anywhere from 5 foot 9 to six stories high
PROS: Can go all night long.
CONS: Likes them young. As in “kindergarten.” Also, fingerbanging is absolutely out of the question.


NAME: Peloquin
LOCATION: Midian, Canada
OCCUPATION: Gatekeeper, Astronaut,
AGE: ???
ETHNICITY: Nightbreed
BODY TYPE: Scaly, some tentacles.
HEIGHT: 6 footish
PROS: Will fuck anything.
CONS: Will fuck anything.

Friday, September 26, 2014

Kthxbye




The Worst of Lovecraft

You've heard me talk about all of the great movies inspired by the tales of H.P. Lovecraft.
Now heed my warning, and stay far the fuck away from these shitty adaptations.

Chill (2007)

Directed by: some guy
Starring: Kirsty Hellraiser, some guys, James Russo, some other guys.
Lovecraft story it was ripped off from  based on: "Cool Air."

Down-on-his-luck Sam, a former hospital employee and aspiring writer, takes a job in a rundown grocery store in inner city L.A. Actually, he kinda half bullies, half begs his way into the job, despite a less than warm welcome from the dumpy, sour hausfrau behind the register. 



"I am supposed to be terrifying."
Store owner Dr. Munoz, who lives in the refrigerated back room and dresses in hooded robes like Jigsaw, hires Sam on the spot and reveals his reference for lowered temperatures: he suffers from a rare skin condition which requires him to be preserved in sub-zero temperatures. Sam starts work and immediately begins an affair with Ashley Laurence who works in a boutique next door. Poor Ashley’s character, Maria, has zero self-esteem, a stalker ex who is also a cop and a single facial expression no matter the circumstances. Whether she’s having sex with Sam or stumbling into a corpse strewn deep freeze, she constantly looks like a girl suffering from the itchy discomfort of hemorrhoids.


When a couple of prostitutes go missing and a stereotypical pimp comes looking for his “bitches” Sam learns the awful truth: that Dr. Munoz has been dead for twenty years, and keeps a fresh supply of bodies in his freezer to replace his rotting skin. Now he wants Sam to choose: be his new partner or another skin donor. 

Quite frankly, I've seen sock drawers that were scarier than this movie. 




Beyond Re-Animator (2003)
Directed by: Brian Yuzna
Starring: Jeff Combs, some chick, that guy who was in Titanic and a bunch of other weirdos.
Lovecraft story it was ripped off from based on: Herbert West: Reanimator

H.P. Lovecraft’s name is nowhere to be found in the opening credits of this third installment in the beloved Re-Animator series, and it’s a good indication of the disappointing things to come.

It’s been 14 years since the Miskatonic Massacre, and Dr. Herbert West has spent that time sitting in prison, convicted of murder and abandoned by the medical society. But Herbie’s been keeping himself busy, experimenting on rats in his cell, determined to perfect his reagent. When young doctor Howie Phillips (haha) is assigned to the prison infirmary, he immediately seeks Herbie out and presents him with a gift: a syringe full of glowing green reagent, which young Howie discovered at the crime scene 14 years earlier, after one of Herbie’s reanimated zombies killed his beloved sister. Throw in a sexy lady reporter and a demented prison warden, and you’ve got everything you need for a fun-filled charnel house flick…right?

Well, no. Not really. Beyond Re-Animator has all of the sex, blood and guts you could possibly ask for but it lacks the goofball charm of its two predecessors. Jeffrey Combs can do no wrong as far as I’m concerned, and his Herbert West is still arrogant as ever, if a little tired and unenthusiastic. Dr. Phillip’s motivation is murky and his love interest – the aforementioned sexy reporter – is kind of a dumb bitch who scores little if any sympathy. Plenty of gore but no heart, no soul, no imagination, and no trace of the brilliance that encapsulated the first two Re-Animator flicks.  

Beyond The Wall Of Sleep (2006)
Directed by: some guys
Starring: William Sanderson, other people.
Lovecraft story it was ripped off from based on: Beyond the Wall of Sleep

"Hooray for socks."
Icky inbred hillbilly clan living in the Catskills worship some weirdass demon they encounter in dreams. Icky inbred patriarch ends up in insane asylum after going on killing spree. Icky non-inbred insane asylum intern is dicking around with interdimensional experiments and telepathic brain stuff. Oops, portal opens, in comes demon, people die, blahblahblah, god this is a mess.

Just ... don't bother. Seriously. See that girl over there with the exposed brain and the permanent expression of a terminal Xanax addict stapled to her face? Yeah, this is much the same way I looked after watching this shit heap.






The Shuttered Room (1967)

Directed by: David Greene
Starring: Carol Lynley, Gig Young, Oliver Reed and his pickled liver.
Lovecraft story it was ripped off from based on: Okay I'm cheating a bit here. This one is based on a story by August Derleth, but Derleth based his tale on some notes left behind by his late friend Howard Lovecraft.


On a remote island off the coast of New England lies the Whately Mill, abandoned for some twenty years and left to rot in the sun and salt air. No one goes near it, and no one dares enter it, for it’s rumored to be cursed by evil and inhabited by demons. So when young Susannah Whately shows up with her husband Mike and the key to the spooky old house, the islanders aren’t exactly thrilled. Neither is Susannah, quite frankly. She and Mike originally thought that the mill would make a terrific summer house, but Susannah just knows that something is waiting for her in the mill, and that a dark secret lurks in her forgotten childhood. Also in a grumpy mood is Susannah’s cousin Ethan, a brutish pig who thought that Whately Mill would eventually would be his. His bitter resentment for his cousin is quickly replaced by lust: Susannah is hot, and Ethan is bored with the brainless, big boobed island idiot he’s been banging. Ethan wants to make both Susannah and the mill his own, but there’s something lurking in the Mill’s Shuttered Room that doesn’t want any of them there, and will kill anyone who gets too close.

Watching The Shuttered Room is a lot like watching a PG version of Straw Dogs that Lovecraft may have briefly breathed on. Mixing elements from The Dunwich Horror & The Lurking Fear, The Shuttered Room is surprisingly dull. Not much happens: it takes about an hour for the first death to occur, and the time leading up to that mostly bloodless moment is tedious to say the least. We get to watch Oliver Reed munch on every frame of film he inhabits, reveling in his role as a filthy, lecherous slob. We get to see Carol Lynley (the leggy hippie chick from the original Poseiden Adventure) strip down to her white granny panties and wander around looking vaguely afraid. Flora Robson as island matriarch Aunt Agatha is magnificently regal, but her screen time is sadly limited. Watching her throw boiling water into Oliver Reed’s face is hugely therapeutic, however!

And quite frankly, I just didn’t “get” this movie. The revelation of the Shuttered Room’s secret is…well, kinda dumb, really. There’s no explanation for it, and nothing supernatural to warrant its isolation, so wtf? It doesn’t even have tentacles.






The Unnameable (1988)
Directed by: Jean-Paul Ouellette
Starring: Charles Klausmeyer, Mark Stephenson, Alexandra Durrell, Laura Albert and Katrin Alexandre.
Lovecraft story it was ripped off from based on: The Unnameable

I am not letting that thing give me oral!
Okay so, a hunnert and fuckseventy years ago, some pious Pilgrimmy couple had a daughter who was so monstrous and hideous and gross and shit that they refused to give her a name and locked her in the attic forever and ever the end. Until... Fast forward to the late 80s and a group of vacuous horny teenagers decide to go party at the local abandoned haunted house and have sex and stuff, but they all end up getting slaughtered by the Unnameable ugly monster who is still locked in the attic. 

After the runaway success of 1985's Re-Animator, filmmakers rushed to cash in, grabbing Lovecraft stories at random and hurriedly turning them into accessible splatter films. It was like watching Michael Meyers jerk off into a supernova: the result, a slightly cosmic slasher film. Yawn.

Except for the Unnameable Herself. As portrayed by dancer Katrin Alexandre, the monster girl (whose name turns out to be Alyda - pronounced Ah-LYE-dah) is the best part of this otherwise shallow horror kiddie pool. She's cool! Look at her! This film is worth watching just for the ultimate reveal of her character - covered in shaggy white hair, sporting cloven hooves and wailing like a banshee in an echo chamber, Alyda could kick the ass of any one dimensional 80s masked slasher villain with no more effort or concern than the average joe would have for an accidentally trod-upon ant. 


Cthulhu Mansion (1992)
Directed by: Juan Simon
Starring: William Shatner's daughter and a bunch of foreign people.
Lovecraft story it was ripped off from based on: I have no fucking clue. I think they just took the word "Cthulhu" and slapped it onto the title, hoping to cash in on the post Re-Animator thing.

Could be worse. Could be "Rape Stove."
A bunch of leather jacketed punks wander into the 1990s directly from the 1950s, fail to realize that they look ridiculous and are about as intimidating as soggy toast, and break into some sideshow magicians mansion for some reason. I think they're druggies looking for stuff to steal. I don't know, I watched this movie when it first came out on video and don't remember very much of it because it was fucking abysmally awful. Anyway, shit happens, dimensions overlap, Melanie Shatner's brother spends the entire film in bed, some stupid bitch gets killed by a demonic refrigerator (I shit you not) and eventually it ends. Oh, and Melanie Shatner gets eaten by an ivy vine. The end.

Thursday, September 25, 2014

Milk Carton Movies - Berberian Sound Studio, 2012

Berberian Sound Studio

Directed by: Peter Strickland
Year released: 2012
Starring: Toby Jones, and a bunch of Italian people whose names are all indecipherable.

When I think of horror movies (and I think about them a LOT) I tend to sort them into two distinct categories. I envision the first category as an overstuffed basement room with shelves sagging beneath the weight of the movies stacked upon them, a messy, dusty, claustrophobic room lit by one stuttering overhead bulb whose inside are littered with the carcasses of dozens of dead flies. The sign on this door reads: HORROR MOVIES. It contains approximately 97% of the movies I have watched in my lifetime. When I think of the movies in this room, I immediately think of blood, scantily clad teenage girls, big guys in masks wielding phallic weapons...you know, all that shit.

The second category I picture as a single drawer set into a bulky, old fashioned dresser, standing silent and sturdy in an otherwise empty room. The drawer is wide and deep but isn't even half full. Its contents rattle around loosely when it's yanked open. The sign on this room's door read MOVIES THAT HORRIFY. The movies found here all bear arcane, arty titles like Picnic At Hanging Rock, Suddenly Last Summer, Kill List, The Innocents, Lake Mungo and (yep, you guessed it) Berberian Sound Studio.

The difference between HORROR MOVIES and MOVIES THAT HORRIFY is simply this: Horror movies entertain me, amuse me and serve as a therapeutic release for my daily stress intake. The movies that horrify are watched infrequently, taken dead seriously and reserved for those times when I actually want to be made to feel profoundly disturbed by a cinematic experience. Movies that horrify work on a deep psychological level that not many people want to admit exists within them, let alone look at occasionally. They are insidious creations, lurking but never pouncing, whispering incessantly rather than screaming shrilly, sitting inside of your head long after you've watched them, rotting like a corpse in your memory and growing more bloated, gaseous and hideous as time goes by. Berberian Sound Studio is such a film.

And I'm just going to go ahead and say this right up front: this movie will bore the shit out of most people. And by "most people" I mean the people who want brainless by-the-numbers horror vehicles, with clockwork jumpscares, bouncing boobies and big bloody handfuls of gore smeared all over the place whilst some Yngwie Malmsteen wannabe underlines the action with a cheesy tension riff. Sorry dudes. There's nothing wrong with fast food horror fixes, but Berberian Sound Studio is definitely for the connoisseur.

Set in the Italy of the 1970s, when smoking was mandatory and giallo movies still held a palpable smear of hair oil and pepperoni grease on every frame, this is the story of Gilderoy, a proper buttoned-up little British man who has made a tidy living as a Foley artist, creating sound effects for PG rated documentaries. Answering the summons of a slick Italian filmmaker, Gilderoy arrives in Italy to begin work on what he thinks is going to be another safe, harmless documentary. Instead, he finds himself smack in the middle of a sleazy horror movie set where tensions are high, secrets are dark and English is not the preferred language. Ostracized by the younger and much more worldy crew, Gilderoy is forced to abandon his polite veneer and sink to the level of his coworkers - a ruthless, sordid lot with nothing but contempt for the polite British bachelor who still lives with his mother.

This film is a subtle, diabolical masterpiece. It's so deeply upsetting to watch Gilderoy's dark slide down into ugliness, knowing he can never pull himself all the way back up out of that pit again for as long as he lives. This movie does not do anything as mediocre as frighten its audience. It prefers to stare back at you for an hour and a half, unnerving you slowly but surely, tightening your stomach and tensing your bowels, gathering in the shadows around your feet, taking pleasure in your dread and absolutely refusing to relent until it has had its say. It avoids being bleak, but it's profoundly sorrowful. And it lingers, Like cancer. Flaring up every so often when least anticipated, poking at your brain with a frozen finger of fear.

God I love chem burns, don't you?
It's also a fascinating portrayal of Foley sound effects, a vastly under-appreciated art without which films - especially horror films - would be about as riveting as unbuttered toast.

Splatter films are fine and good and perfectly acceptable, but you've got to treat yourself once in a while. Put down the cold, leftover pizza and pick up a slab of porterhouse. Berberian Sound Studio is a seven course meal. Chew slowly. Savor it. Don't question the ingredients. Just appreciate it while it lasts.

Tuesday, September 23, 2014

The Autumn People

“For these beings, fall is ever the normal season, the only weather, there be no choice beyond. Where do they come from? The dust. Where do they go? The grave. Does blood stir their veins? No: the night wind. What ticks in their head? The worm. What speaks from their mouth? The toad. What sees from their eye? The snake. What hears with their ear? The abyss between the stars. They sift the human storm for souls, eat flesh of reason, fill tombs with sinners. They frenzy forth....Such are the autumn people.”

~Ray Bradbury

Be to her, Persephone,
All the things I might not be:
Take her head upon your knee.
She that was so proud and wild,
Flippant, arrogant and free,
She that had no need of me,
Is a little lonely child
Lost in Hell,—Persephone,
Take her head upon your knee:
Say to her, "My dear, my dear,
It is not so dreadful here."

~Edna St. Vincent Millay


“At no other time (than autumn) does the earth let itself be inhaled in one smell, the ripe earth; in a smell that is in no way inferior to the smell of the sea, bitter where it borders on taste, and more honeysweet where you feel it touching the first sounds. Containing depth within itself, darkness, something of the grave almost.” 

~ Rainer Maria Rilke, Letters on Cezanne

Spades take up leaves
No better than spoons,
And bags full of leaves
Are light as balloons.
I make a great noise
Of rustling all day
Like rabbit and deer
Running away.
But the mountains I raise
Elude my embrace,
Flowing over my arms
And into my face.
I may load and unload
Again and again
Till I fill the whole shed,
And what have I then?
Next to nothing for weight,
And since they grew duller
From contact with earth,
Next to nothing for color.
Next to nothing for use.
But a crop is a crop,
And who's to say where
The harvest shall stop?” 
Robert Frost













“Autumn 

The cheerful sundial 
it falls in the shadow 
of thy leaves 
there 
where your branches 
brace themselves 
against the gate of heaven” 

sir kristian goldmund aumann




October gave a party;
The leaves by hundreds came -
The Chestnuts, Oaks, and Maples,
And leaves of every name.
The Sunshine spread a carpet,
And everything was grand,
Miss Weather led the dancing,
Professor Wind the band.” 

― George Cooper






“When she had arranged her household affairs, she came to the library and bade me follow her. Then, with the mirror still swinging against her knees, she led me through the garden and the wilderness down to a misty wood. It being autumn, the trees were tinted gloriously in dusky bars of colouring. The rowan, with his amber leaves and scarlet berries, stood before the brown black-spotted sycamore; the silver beech flaunted his golden coins against my poverty; firs, green and fawn-hued, slumbered in hazy gossamer. No bird carolled, although the sun was hot. Marina noted the absence of sound, and without prelude of any kind began to sing from the ballad of the Witch Mother: about the nine enchanted knots, and the trouble-comb in the lady's knotted hair, and the master-kid that ran beneath her couch. Every drop of my blood froze in dread, for whilst she sang her face took on the majesty of one who traffics with infernal powers. As the shade of the trees fell over her, and we passed intermittently out of the light, I saw that her eyes glittered like rings of sapphires.

("The Basilisk")” 
― R. Murray GilchristTerror by Gaslight: More Victorian Tales of Terror






“The multicolored leaves were softly glowing against the black sky, creating an untimely nocturnal rainbow which scattered its spectral tints everywhere and dyed the night with a harvest of hues: peach gold and pumpkin orange, honey yellow and winy amber, apple red and plum violet. Luminous within their leafy shapes, the colors cast themselves across the darkness and were splattered upon our streets and our fields and our faces. Everything was resplendent with the pyrotechnics of a new autumn.” 
― Thomas LigottiThe Nightmare Factory


Fuck Off & Die

Sex can be difficult for women. We want to enjoy it, but sometimes you guys just don’t make it possible. And since we’re brought up believing that we must always be polite, we’re usually not going to tell you that you suck. We’re hoping you’ll figure it out as you go. For god’s sake, the female body is a playground. Have fun with it, don’t just rub up against the slide for five seconds and say you’re done. If we girls don’t get off, we get frustrated. And all of that frustration starts leaking out and taking new and hideous shapes, birthing monstrosities and forcing us to imagine how sex could possibly get any more disappointing.
And sometimes those frustrated fantasies take shape, grow legs and find their way into horror films…

#1 Re-Animator (1985)
Well duh, this one was painfully obvious so let’s just get it over with right now. I was going to say it was a No Brainer, but that would have been an even worse pun than the one already on display, as the evil and dastardly (and plagiaristic) Dr. Hill picks up his own severed head and shoves it between the yanked open thighs of Megan Halsey. Unfortunately, Hill’s taste of the promised land is rudely cut short by the uptight and eternally asexual Herbert West, who wouldn’t know what an orgasm was if one was handed to him in a petri dish. Probably just as well anyway. Megan wasn’t into it at all, and Hill might have found himself tonguing a slit drier than a scrap of sandpaper in the Gobi desert.
#2 Galaxy Of Terror (1981)
People with deep seated psychological and sexual issues shouldn’t go wandering around in deep space, I think that’s pretty much the lesson here. Not only did Taaffe O’Connell neglect to don any underwear beneath her space suit, she also made the unwise decision to go wandering off alone in an alien labyrinth with her frigidity intact and her Freudian fear of worms at the forefront of her mind. Small wonder then that a ten foot long maggot with an infinite number of slime-expelling proboscides covering its segmented thorax should choose that exact moment to squirm out of the dark, rip Taaffe’s cheap coveralls off (what, did you get those things at Wal-Mart?) and frantically lick her right into multiple orgasm heaven. Taaffe’s screams of horror quickly turn into gasps of pleasure, followed by a death rattle that may or may not have inspired Type O Negative’s ode to death by sex “Love You To Death.”
#3 Tetsuo (1989)
Man, you finally get a quiet night alone with your boyfriend, just a cozy little dinner for two at your place, and his penis turns into an industrial sized power drill. I don’t even mean those dinky little Black and Decker dealios that dad used to leave laying around in the garage either. Remember the Gobots? In particular, Screwhead? Yeah, imagine a 3 foot tall Screwhead hanging out of your boyfriend’s open zipper, grinding and gnashing and eager to turn your feminine funhouse into a raw hamburger stand. It would be at this point that I would highly recommend seeing other people.
#4 MOH: Sick Girl (2006)
Finding Mr. or Ms. Right is a challenge for anyone these days. Ida Teeter has the added burden of being both a lesbian and an entomologist. Ida’s massive bug collection would freak out even the most cynical exterminator, and it’s putting a serious dent in her love life…until she meets fellow lesbo bug freak Misty. It seems like perfection incarnate, until Ida finds herself in a love triangle. Misty has taken up with one of Ida’s “friends” – an unclassified South American mantis who’s been skull-fucking Misty at every available opportunity, giving Misty the ol’ in and out through her sweet pink earhole with his impressive proboscis. And you know the old saying: once you’ve had Mantis, you’ll never want anything else in your pantis…or something.
#5 Possession (1981)
Sam Neill is worried that his wife is in love with someone else. He has reason to worry. His wife is played by Isabelle Adjani, one of the most gorgeous women in the world. Who in his or her right mind wouldn’t want to fuck her? She could have her pick. But when Sam’s fears are finally confirmed, when he finally walks in on Izzy and catches her in the act of fucking someone else, right there on the bare floor in front of God and everyone, you know he’s got to be thinking: “She dumped me for THAT?” I mean, what the fuck even IS that thing? Is that a giant snake? Are those tentacles? Is it Medusa’s kid brother, banging the shit out of our heroine? The poor lighting and brief glimpses aren’t enough to classify the man-sized, slimy, reptilian thing that is humping away on top of Isabelle like a poodle on a wooden leg. But it looks icky, and is apparently insatiable. And why Adjani didn’t spend the remainder of the film lurching around bowlegged is a mystery.

Friday, September 19, 2014

Blasphemy!

Horror's Most Blasphemous Movie Moments 

1. The Exorcist: Mother Mary Gets a Play-Doh Makeover 
I’ll bet you were expecting me to single out the crucifixion masturbation scene, weren’t you? Yeah, I thought about it, but ultimately dismissed it for two reasons. #1 – she wasn’t masturbating with it, she was fucking stabbing herself with it, and #2 – that was not the scene that made me gasp and recoil. Early on in The Exorcist, before any of the heavy shit has even thought about going down, we get a peaceful scene of a priest entering the church to leave offerings of autumn blossoms at the feet of the Saints. St. Joseph, fine and dandy, no sweat. But when he turns to the Virgin with a look of sorrow and horror slowly spreading across his face – we know the film just took its first turn onto the Ugly off ramp and is barreling into Depravity Heights at 100mph. To see the sweet Mother Mary’s dove white effigy defaced in her own sanctuary so crudely and with such malice is akin to watching someone take a shit on your grandma’s face.

2. Hellraiser III – Hell On Earth: Pinhead Does Communion
The Priest: Demons aren’t real. They’re parables, metaphors.
Joey: Then what the fuck is that? 


Churches are a sanctuary, the ultimate safe zone. They are consecrated ground, a place where evil cannot enter. Right? Well, no. That’s the mistake that Joey makes when she foolishly thinks she can evade lead cenobite Pinhead by running into an inner city church with the Lament Configuration in her hand. Padre Pinhead isn’t the least bit intimidated by the holy structure, oh no. He struts on in and swaggers up the nave, oblivious to the explosion of stained glass that announces his entrance, and right on up to the altar where he proceeds to mock both the Last Supper and the Crucifixion, first by skewering his own palms with his own head-pins, and then by shoving a chunk of his own putrid flesh into the mouth of a priest and reciting the Eucharist verbatim. The smug smile he retains throughout the scene suggests that the idea of bending an altar boy over a baptismal font and fucking him up the ass had occurred to him, but was ultimately rejected as being “too Catholic.”
3. To the Devil A Daughter: Nastassja the Underage Nun Gets Her Freak On
This film took a LOT of shit when it came out, not because of its subject matter but rather because a then-15 year old Nastassja Kinski appeared in it totally naked. But come on, she’s Klaus Kinski’s kid, she was born shock proof. Anyway, the sight of Nastassja’s jutting ribs and outta control vaginal fro were horrifying, true enough, but not necessarily blasphemous. However, you throw a hot little girl into a nun’s habit and you just know some serious shit is going to go down at some point. Sure enough, Miss Kinski soon finds herself spread eagled on the ground amid a circle of Satanists who proceed to shove a life sized idol of Astaroth – kind of a reverse Jesus – up her underage snatch. Oddly, Kinski doesn’t seem to mind much. I believe it was at this point where she thought to herself: “Hey, I gotta do this with a boa constrictor someday!”
4. Lair of the White Worm: Lady Sylvia Spits on the Savior
Speaking of snakes, we move on now to the over-the-top, kaleidoscope colored fuckfest that is the mind of Ken Russell. In 1988, that super-freaky skull of his birthed The Lair of the White Worm, based on a story by Bram Stoker and starring a then-unknown Hugh Grant. Classy English babe Sylvia Marsh casually strolls into a countryside cottage, picks up the skull of a giant worm as gently and reverently as if it were Baby Jeebus Himself and strolls back out again. On her way out, she pauses before a silver crucifix bearing the Body of Christ upon it, and nonchalantly spits a smoking stream of acidic green venom all over it before resuming her classy stroll back out the door. It’s like watching your Aunt Tilly exit a faculty tea party and pausing in the foyer to piss on a pot of begonias and daintily wipe herself afterwards with a lace doily. Oh no she DIN’T!
5. Dagon: Fishmongers Go Beserk
Sometimes, praying just doesn’t cut it, especially when you’re starving to death in abject poverty. You gotta get proactive. Ditch those moldy Psalms and get yourself some Dagon. You’ll be rollin’ in the gold and rakin’ in the cash. Uh, you’ll also be growing gills and tentacles as you get older, but hey, everything has its price. Personally, I have to wonder what price director Stuart Gordon had to pay to get his cast of extras – all of them residents of Spain where practicing Catholicism is second only to breathing air – to trash a church, violently dismantling crucifixes and sledgehammering the almighty shit out of statues of the Virgin Mary in order to pave the way for The Esoteric Order of Dagon. How many Ave Maria’s and Pater Noster’s were recited that week, I wonder?
6. La Chiesa (The Church): Goatfuckers Inc.
You know what? If you suspect that there’s something horrible buried beneath an ancient church, maybe you should just leave it the hell alone. Digging that shit up is like stripping butt naked, labeling your body like a pork roast and wandering through Bubba Sawyer’s bedroom at breakfast time. So don’t have the nerve to look surprised when that mild mannered dude you’ve been working alongside suddenly turns into a devil possessed, goat headed demon who enthusiastically doggie humps the shit out of you on an altar in the church basement, right in front of God and everyone. Literally. You had to have seen it coming…pun not intended.
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