Friday, October 28, 2011


Preview of the cover and the ass end of the new rag:

Slithering out of the printing press on HALLOWEEN!  You've been warned!

Friday, October 21, 2011

Shriek of the Mutilated

I hate boring movies. I set the bar pretty low for some B-grade trash, but as long as it isn’t boring, I’m in. Oh how I’ve suffered through the last couple weeks. Each tape I clumsily slapped into the VCR was more boring than the last. My mind eroded from sheer soul trampling boredom; wrinkles smoothed out like a sheet dancing in the breezy sunshine. The search and thrill of finding that one flick that would trample its closet room budget and exceed beyond the limitations of acting ability, technical aptitude, and shoddy, exploitive plot line was slowly waning from me. My resolve was fading. My eyes and senses and very joints ached. Slush puppies lost their flavor. Children cried in the streets. Life was bad.

Then Shriek of the Mutilated came and revived my sense of purpose. This was the dreg that made watching basement produced flicks so much fun. This was the forbidden cream filling of the cinematic Twinkie. This was the b-vitamin booster I needed. Fuck yeah, someone threw a surprise pizza party in my mind; pin the tail on the donkey and all that jazz. How have I gone so long without finding you Shriek of the Mutilated? Will you bear my babies? Will you be my cock sheath?

What’s that? You’ve heard the buildup, now you want to know what this gem is actually about? Well, I’ve got two words for you….bigfoot….sneakers. You want to know more? Ok; there’s a search for yeti, there’s college “kids” (ie thirty somethings we are supposed to believe are kids), there’s rampant racism surrounding native Americans, there’s a bald man in khakis sporting a pony tail, gore, scuzziness, hysteria, twists, turns, thrills, chills, spills…I’m spent. Every moment I was enthralled. Boring? I think not mon frer. This is the finest trash served on a silver plate, smothered in gravy, begging consumption. There’s so much I can comment on, but I won’t, and not because I’m lazy (which I am), but because spoiling the fun of it would be a sin. You’ve got to sit through it yourself. You’ve got to experience Shriek of the Mutilated on your own. Explaining why it’s fun would be like explaining why a water slide is a hoot, or why Chucky Cheese ball pits are always a holler (or were). I’ve given you enough….bigfoot….sneakers…..keep the remote ready, fingers poised over rewind……..

There will be more about Shriek of the Mutilated in the future.  It's a movie too goregasmic to visit just once!



Razorback is essentially Australian for Jaws; a giant, dangerous, irrational creature that attacks humans on site with little or no motivation for doing so, all the while obscured by the theatrics of fog, light, and perspective. By no means a bad movie, and by no means a great one either; while the photography in this film is beautiful and oftentimes haunting the pacing is more erratic than a shithouse rat. More than once I found myself questioning motivation or felt rather jilted by the sudden change in scene and dialogue. It may have worked great for the director while firing off music videos but it makes for a somewhat unsettling movie going experience, not to mention a killer headache.

What Razorback lacks in ambience it makes up for in pure visual storytelling. There were several pieces in the film that had a haunting dreamlike quality to them, where reality and fantasy blending and coalesced into something that seemed completely out of place for a film about a giant roaming menace on trotters. In a matter of fact the threat of the giant beast pig seemed secondary to everything else happening on screen. We hardly see the aforementioned animal as most of the plot dances around the plight of several revolving characters, but never long enough to get a clear idea of their moral grounding or motivation. The thick Australian accent and rapid fire line reading did little to help either. The scenes that worked the best for me were those completely devoid of dialogue, as they managed to build some tension, but for the most part the film seemed very touch and go, trying to fit as many scenes as possible to keep the story moving within its two hour timeframe.

If some of the set pieces and dreamlike visual were the main attraction to the film then the offbeat redneck twins Benny and Dicko were the secondary pull for me. Their erratic behavior and junkyard dog mentality livened the proceedings of the film up a bit and provided much more of an anchor of despicability than the main monster did. For all intents and purposes they seemed to be the main villains of the movie, often crashing through scenes with crazy abandon and a punk-like anti-social attitude that would make most “normal” people more scared to transverse the outback than any pissed off hog would. Even their surroundings provided some of the cooler visuals of the movie; like the steamy, hostile meat packing plant and their makeshift underground lair. Needless to say I’d love to share a six pack of Fosters with these nut jobs while hunting down some kangaroos on safari. I’ve got good money that says they’d love listening to a bout of Whiplash and Vomitor.

All in all Razorback makes for an enjoyable ride. Monster romps don’t need too much flair to keep them pumping along and this flick has enough eccentricities to keep me coming back, even though I could of used more B-rated flavor like heavy doses of gore, boobs, and bad words to make the time pass this gets an easy ride for being so damn serious about the subject matter without transversing too far into the land of hokey (even though I’d have to say that my favorite scene was a humorous piece were one guy gets his living room ripped in half by the giant pig). Plus all those cool Australian backwoods locales make for an interesting sit through, so crack open some piss warm beer and lay on back. It’s fat berserker boar time!

Thursday, October 20, 2011


Do you remember those Mad Scientist play sets for kids from the 1980's? They friggin ruled. They had an alien autopsy one where you could cover an alien's organs in that smelly green slime stuff and simulate cutting out this pour things organs. I WISH I still had that thing. It explains sooooo much about my personality now that I played with something like that. They also had these cool play sets where you'd mix two different things that they'd name something like "monster jizz"* and "lizard shit"* and it'd make some sort of crazy reaction, like....ummm....fizzing. Well I've got a confession for you. When I was a kid I dropped a Scorpion music video, a few delicious Swedish gummi fish, and some fake blood into a time capsule, buried it, and now it fused together through some mad scientist reaction (read fizzing) to form Blood Tracks; the cock rock horror movie straight from the alps of Sweden and delivered into the sanctuary of your living room.

This movie is essentially The Hills Have Eyes meets the rock group Rat in the snow, and in the dark. Well, mostly in the dark. Half of the movie I couldn't tell who was who (they just list the actor's names for the credits, which is kind of weird by itself because apparently there is some person out there named Zim Zam…no shiting you), where they were in relation to each other, and well, anything really. People drop off and nobody seems to notice in the film and in the audience. This movie made me feel like I was high on speed, coke, tripping on acid, and huffing paint at the same time without actually doing any drugs at all. It's THAT disorienting. I had to self administer a breathalyzer to make sure I wasn't drunk, even though I hadn't had a beer all week.

I can tell you that it features the band Easy Action. They even perform the theme song for the movie on the side of a mountaintop. There are scenes that look like they were shot in the bottom of a sewage tank. There are dirty inbreeds that just want be left alone to live in their septic tank sanctuary (which is a huge step up for them considered they used to live in a closet with a single tea cup being their ONLY possession). Easy Action steps on their filthy toes by making that new fangled rock music so close to their home. Dozens of people die from traps laid by the family, but you're not sure exactly how some of the traps actually worked because my screen was dark, and because some questionable artistic choices meant that the sides of the screen got cut off at parts. An avalanche displaces a bunny rabbit. It's really as simple as that....sprinkled with a lot of boozing and drugs, but what'd you expect when people are rolling hard with arm tassels and string bikinis in the middle of the Arctic Circle?

This movie does make up for its shortfalls with tons and tons of Velveeta. Blows that look like they'd result in minor wounds end up being geysers of blood. Drugs and rock and roll must make skin vessels really fragile and susceptible to rupturing. And there is no lack of skin and laughable bad dialogue, but sadly enough, no tracks of blood that I can remember. Maybe it's the imaginary drugs clogging my memory. The theme song was right, damn it all. I'm in the danger zone!

*no...not really

Thursday, October 13, 2011

Visitng Hours

This one really took me by surprise. It's such a mean spirited, well played slasher flick. It reminded me of Maniac, which is rare because Maniac is one of my favorite movies. Michael Ironside (Colt Hawker) plays the grade ‘A’ badass motherfucker in this movie. He's such a sleazy looking, slithering huckster; constantly dripping in some mung-like goo that has the consistency of bowling alley oil, constantly raging, constantly on the hunt, constantly winning the hearts and minds of guys everywhere with his fervent psychotic episodes. What a real man; a pinnacle of macho bravado, a master of the art of disrespect. I’d be best buddies with him except for the distinct possibility that he could go apeshit wild bananas on me at the drop of a dime and rather break off toothpicks in my eye sockets than discuss the intricacies of 18th century Elizabethan taxes. Then again, maybe I’d do the same. And then again, maybe he just takes his boiling inferno of rage a couple more dance steps than what I’d be comfortable with. Ironside’s character is also a total and complete bastard, so that’s another reason why I don’t think we’ll be giving each other high fives anytime soon. He’s the type of guy who chokes old ladies in their hospital beds while taking pictures of them grasping for life. Plus he doesn't leave tips for waitresses at greasy spoon diners. I can’t abide that. The no tipping part I mean.

Hawker's such a fiery ball of rage and hatred that he has to carry a black stress ball around with him every where he goes. He even sweeps the floor with a zamboni in a manner that just conveys that he's seriously pissed off. If you could bottle all that hatred and stick it into a rocket ship it'd fly to Jupiter and back and still have fuel in reserve. He's so mad in this movie that he focuses most of his time on stalking TWO main characters, which crazy for a slasher film. The main baddy usually has his hands full just focusing on one target, but not Hawk Colter...oh no...he picks two because he overheard a nurse referring to him as a "creep". That's gotta chaff you enough to make it your undying mission to wipe her and her entire family, friends, and pets off the face of the planet!

And what the hell was up with the jewelry thing? He gets naked and covers himself in every piece of jewelry this lady owns and smears makeup all over his face. What a friggin bag of screw boxes. I bet he didn't even know he was being filmed, he showed up to work dressed like that that day at Home Depot or something and the director spotted him and knew he had the perfect man for the role. Not to mention the bell thing on his necklace. You'd think a slasher wouldn't be running around with a bell strapped around his neck. It's be really tough to sneak up on people jingle jangling around. Maybe it's his own personal joke, like he is showing up to slice your throat and he's so psyched out about it he came literally with bells on. What a cracker jack.

William Shatner is in it too, but I'm not sure why. I mean he spends most of the film eating hospital food and looking smug; not that I'm complaining or anything, it's fucking Shatner after all. At one point he's allowed into a fresh crime scene and you can't figure out exactly what the fuck he's doing there. Up to that moment in the film he was being portrayed as some sort of studio director, and last I checked they didn't have first dibs on trying to solve crimes. I guess the detectives were just like "Oh shit, it's Shatner, let him take a crack at this". Fucking Shatner man.

For the people wondering about the plot I'll break it down quick and dirty; it's a film about a lunatic that has a hard on for killing some news anchor/editorialist who's full of moxy and exposes pro-feminist, anti-violence, pro-bunny sentiments, all of which totally piss Ironside off. He freaking HATES bunny rabbits. His first attack on her landed her in a hospital, so never wanting to leave a job unfinished he pursues her from there, and nobody, not the cops, not helpless hospital patients, not annoying schmoes that look like Mario from Super Mario Brothers with huge ass 70's staches, and not even Shatner in all his ice cream slurping glory can stop him. They eventually describe where all his rage comes from, which of course is from some cliche bad childhood trama, but really they could have left it out. The question is sometimes way more exciting than the answer.
For people looking for one of those fluffy "popcorn" horror films this ain't it. There's no tongue in cheek antics, no directorial hyucking, no funny business to be had here; but that's not to say this movie ain't fun to watch.

Saturday, October 8, 2011

Cinema Du Meep - October Slasher month

Check out Meep's blog; during the month of October he's reviewing a slasher a day.  What a bodycount!  Tell him Cropys's Cryptkeeper sent you packing from the morgue!



In the abysmal, black, soulless heart of cinematic tinkering lies a beast so unscrupulously dumb that it makes the higher brain functions of a California peach seem like sonnets from the world’s finest poet. Well, maybe that’s taking it a bit too far. Syngenor isn’t that terrible of a film. Its stupidity is actually kind of endearing in some ways and brutally unforgiving in others. If you’re in the mood for a complete reality zone out session lasting roughly a couple of hours, then this is your bacon wrapped enchilada. There is something about a film that has no qualms dancing in the sewer of bad taste, really kicking up the brown stuff and never looking back to see who gets sprayed that gets to me every time. It’s got lunatics, corporate yuppy greed, drug abuse, and synthetic monster soldiers whose weakness includes….well….everything. Even water burns them. That’s right, water. That’s something I never thought I’d see since hanging out with the Neon Maniacs. Bravo Syngenor! You’re my new best, worse friend.

The plot is basically about a company that’s run by complete morons that happened to create some sort of sentient spinal fluid sucking soldier. Every stereotypical megalomaniac is present, plus it’s got every standard bad horror flick character you can possibly imagine. There’s a nosey reporter. There’s a lazy, borderline retarded detective. There’s the woman trying to find revenge for her uncle’s untimely death. There’s a scientist that blows up oranges. It’s got it all, and sure, some of it is entertaining to the lowest denominator of all bad tastes. It’s so dumb it comes around the bend and becomes funny, then becomes dumb, and then becomes painful, then you just don’t give a shit anymore and your mind enters this dumb, lethargic state of blissful ignorance. Maybe the purpose of the film is to transform the audience’s mentality into that of the slow moving, grumbling, stumbling, Synegors on screen by pummeling your mind with one idiotic antic after another.

Unstoppable soldiers these are not; the advertising was greatly exaggerated. The Syngenors are really kind of weak. Their combat tactics include standing there and letting themselves get riddled by bullets until they die, or standing in front of cars and letting themselves get run over, and that’s about it. I’m pretty sure some of them even died off camera, probably from something really lame like high blood pressure or Parkinson’s disease. Their special move is basically just picking people up and throwing them against the wall and they never move faster than say, the speed of smell. The fact that they suck ass is conveyed within the first fifteen minutes of reel time when a flower pot full of water slows one down, melting some of its skin off. Then you realize that water fucks them up., thereby eliminating any kind of threat these things may have posed. God forbid it rains outside and they forgot their umbrellas. The rest of the movie is kind of a loose string of sci-fi and b-movie clich├ęs gone horribly wrong. I could spend a long time talking about all the ways this movie wraps in on itself and implodes, but the art of being this bad really needs to be seen and experienced to truly sink in. I’m afraid if I think about it for too long my brain will become hungry for nourishment and eat itself.

What’s truly amazing about Synegor is its persistence at contradicting and defying its own logic at every turn. Just when you thought it couldn’t get any more derivative or silly something else happens that leaves you feeling like you just got slammed in the brain pan with a megaton of stupid. What is that green shit that the CEO of the company keeps shooting into his neck? Why does everyone insist on parking in the handicap spot when the parking lot is clearly empty and it’s not even the closest spot to the building? How is a company smart enough to develop laser weapons but not smart enough to teach the Syngenors how to use them? Why does everyone keep following the orders of a man that is clearly out of his fruit loops? What happened to the Synegors that escaped right at the beginning of the film? How did the reporter and that chick end up crawling out of the building through a ventilation shaft that was clearly leading them down when they started out in the basement? What did Stan Armbrewster have to do on his Saturday besides eat donuts and become vaporized by a laser beam?

And maybe that’s why I ended up liking this movie; it just doesn’t give a flying fudge how it may hold up to any ounce of critical review. It basks in its own warm glow of dumb and never lets up with the craziness. You can’t gauge what’s going to happen from one moment to the next. It’s wild, untamable; like chimpanzee with Down syndrome and a perchance for tossing shit at anyone that comes close to it. Fuck you Syngenor…..I love you!