Hellacious Acres: The Case of John Glass - Movie Review

In the future after World War III, and further after Alien World War I, a military agent with no memory of his existence awakens from a cryogenic slumber inside an abandoned barn on an Earth that is no longer capable of supporting human life. His only guide to understanding this new world and his purpose is his wrist computer. His mission is to obtain codes from isolated barns in solitary locations that will allow the planet to become inhabitable once again. Along the journey he will encounter aliens, some deranged survivalists, and many, many wiles of walking.

At heart, Hellacious Acres: TCJG is a friendly spoof on survivalist video games. I wish I could name some but I am not an avid gamer, but the first half hour of the film clearly references the instructional stages found at the beginnings of rpg's and some platform games. On screen, it looks like a movie that was made on a weekend salary of someone working at a pawn shop, and they used most of the tools in the pawn shop as props.

Writer/Director Pat Tremblay provides us with interesting homemade costumes, and a script that could have been written on a roll of toilet paper during one sitting in the bathroom, because it if it weren't for the overdubs you would swear they were making the whole thing up on the fly. The film tone is gritty with a few computer effects and homemade slop. There are only three characters in the entire film with the majority of it being John Glass experiencing the worst case scenarios when testing out his suit's equipment.

For whatever reason, I actually watched the whole thing. I was intrigued as to where this whole thing was headed and God help me but there is a part of me that actually liked this movie. It will find its audience, but the vast majority of people that watch it will hate it - not dislike it - HATE it.

I would not recommend this movie to a general movie watcher or even a die hard horror fan. If you're an avid gamer, maybe, but if you do watch this, don't feel bad if you start thinking that your tax paying dollars went to somebody on welfare and they used it to make this film. You will seriously want to hurt somebody.

Blood and Lace (1971) - Movie Review

Ellie’s mother is the town’s most popular attraction and men are absolutely thrilled by her park rides. SHE’S A WHORE – GET IT?! Criminy, gotta spell everything out for you kids; probably can’t even wipe your own asses properly. 

One night, while Ellie (Melody Patterson) is asleep, her mother (THE WHORE) and her current client are bludgeoned to death and the house is burned down. Ellie escapes and is soon placed in foster care under Mrs. Deere (Gloria Grahame) and her creepy maintenance man Tom (Len Lesser – best known as Uncle Leo from Seinfeld). 

Ellie soon discovers that she may have lived through one nightmare but she has entered an entirely new one. Mrs. Deere’s home is more of a prison than a home, and punishment for any disobedience is swift, severe, and bloody. All the while, her mother’s killer is still loose and only welfare detective Calvin Carruthers (Vic Tayback – Mel from Alice) has Ellie’s well-being in mind.

Blood and Lace (not to be confused with Mario Bava’s quirky giallo Blood and Black Lace) wound up being much better than I could have ever anticipated. The story is simple, but you do seem to start questioning the motives behind every character and wondering what is evil and what is good? The shocks are blunt, and the use of then-new Technicolor was brilliantly exploited in the clothes and makeup, and in the violence. The acting was actually fairly standard, mostly amongst the older cast members, particularly Vic Tayback as the gruff, no-nonsense detective; well done. The (COUGH) teenagers (there was nothing teen aged about any of these “kids”) didn’t fair as well, but they sure were pretty to look at. But what the heck is a twenty-one year old still doing at an orphanage; seriously?

This was director Phillip S. Gilbert’s only known directorial effort from a script by Gil Lasky. The bar wasn’t raised, in fact it was barely even touched by fingertips from a little person standing on phone books, but it delivered a bizarre tale starring wicked characters that made it intriguing enough to keep watching. 

Ministry - Relapse (An Observation)

 
Been listening to the latest Ministry album Relapse. I sensed that Uncle Al wasn't quite done yet under this banner and certainly not done with the music industry, but considering that his nemesis George W. Bush no longer holds the reigns to the United States it makes to wonder what does Jourgensen have left to talk about? According to this new record, not much.

Musically it remains in the speedy, blistering vein he succumbed to back in 2004's House of the Mole' with speedy technical riffs that make rhythm guitarist Mike Scaccia yearn for the days he can slow down when playing for his other thrash metal band Rigor Mortis. The sound continued in Rio Grande Blood, and persevered through what was the final of the anti-Bush trilogy and the supposed Ministry grand finale album The Last Sucker. Now, after a handful of remix albums and cover albums, finally seeing the release of Buck Satan and the 666 Shooters own album Bikers Welcome, Ladies Drink Free, and opening Sonic Ranch to other bands for production, and surviving yet another near death experience, it seems as if someone has coerced Al Jourgensen to returning to his harsh mistress that is Ministry.

As Al told metal magazine Metal Hammer back in an August 2011 interview, "I've been listening to it the last couple of weeks and I wasn't really in the mood, I was just taking it as a joke." Yet, his bandmates pursued the album vigorously, giving us quite possibly the fastest and heaviest Ministry album yet, but lost in all of the chaos is Al's excitement. The messages in the songs lyrics are crystal clear and as the music is tighter, crisper, there is no element of danger. Ministry's albums were never afraid to step into the barrier of noise pollution in an effort to find the beauty in the madness. Relapse goes nowhere near the boundaries of raging lunacy, stopping at only hyper reality.

Having been a lifelong Ministry fan, Relapse picks up precisely where The Last Sucker left off. For newly recent Ministry fans that's good. They need Al Jourgensen's genius in their lives to save them from the rest of the wretched, un-listanable crap that pollutes the music scene these days, but for someone like me who has experienced all of the transformations and reincarnations, there's an emptiness in Relapse that can be filled only by a trip through the past, when the music was precisely dirty, which made it beautiful.

There's nothing wrong with the technical aspects of Relapse, and the cover of S.O.D.'s United Forces is a hoot, and I will listen to this album repeatedly because it is a good album, but there's another side of Ministry that has been missing for almost a decade. One more stab at redoing the undone wouldn't hurt (Al was industrializing metal and producing dub step before they were cool, hell before there were labels for such genres), but for now enjoy Relapse. It will kick your balls through your skull and out your ears. You may just start a fashion trend you lucky fuck.

Even Monsters Get Diseases

I am anxious to begin reading Storm Constantine's works. She is most known for the Wraeththu Chronicles. I figured I would start there, but there is still so much to choose from. She also has singles works, including a collaboration with my all-time inspiration Michael Moorcock called Silverheart. I would prefer to start with lone story book rather than the first of a series, but does it really matter? I'm probably being completely anal about it, and you love it when I go anal.

Storm Constantine's books deal plentifully with mysticism and jumbling sexualities. I've even considered giving Anne Rice's latest offering The Wolf Gift a chance, though how good she still is since converting to Christianity is anyone's guess. I feel it may be parallel to Chuck Mangione giving up the drugs. It was great for his health but his music never came close to the excellence of his junkie era.

This all stems from a new project that I've been tinkering with. It's one that has me excited again like no other work has done in such a long time.

 I'm hoping to turn this young adult craze on its head and put some fear back into the creatures of the night, even if I must destroy the world to do it. I want teenagers to fall in love with fearing the written word once again. I want them to fall asleep with my story in one hand and a steak knife for protection in the other because my monsters don't come from under the bed. They bash down the front door, splatter puppies, and rape their parents while using their childrens' skulls as condoms. Seems to be a defeated purpose but even monsters need to practice safe sex.

The horsemen ride, and they're bringing the kids. Horseman's Child.

The Divide - Movie Review

The nuclear war has happened. Now, nine survivors cooped in the basement of their tenement try to survive the fallout as rations dwindle and fear consumes their rationality. 

Fan-favorite actor Michael Biehn (Terminator, Aliens) portrays the building’s morally bitter super who is upset about having to share his space with these people while Bobby (Michael Eklund) and Josh (Milo Ventimiglia) are two young, selfish thugs that want to usurp their will over the ill-fated group. Eva (Laura German) is one of a few level headed individuals trying to keep the peace during the time of damnation, but the longer they are all locked underground together the more psychologically depraved and sadistic everyone becomes.

Director Xavier Gens (Hitman) and virtual newcomer writers Karl Mueller and Eron Sheean deliver an eye-gouging, deliciously twisted psychological thriller. There are several intense moments of in-fighting that lets the viewer feel just how tense the situation is between the survivors and strong scenes involving torturous mutilation and survival’s decrepit necessity. It's like Thanksgiving's Day dinner with Ed Gein as the host.

The Divide is a two hour descent into the sick potentials of humanity’s deteriorating psyche, but time flies right on by; you might not even blink but you'll definitely cringe

.  

Drama's Ghost

We met during the summer semester in a Literary Analysis class. Instantly, we built a kinetic friendship based on sarcasm and an appreciation for good grades. The course was four weeks long; we were almost finishing one another’s sentences by the second week without even knowing either’s last names. 

I never told her how pretty she is or how lovely I thought she was. She was in a relationship at the time, albeit from her descriptions a wounded one. I respected her implicitly. I had finally found someone I could have a decent conversation with. After so many agonizing years of worthless diatribe she came along and blazingly illuminated my world with her brains and her strength. 

Her head barely reached my shoulders but packed within her firm, athletic frame and brightly colored garb was street dog attitude. She didn’t need any makeup. She used it minimally in a strikingly effective way.  

Our symbolic moment arrived the morning I saw her feet. I said I never told her she was pretty, but I did complement her feet. 

“You have the cutest toes in the world,” I said. She said thank you the way a woman says thank you when you call her stunning, resplendent; when you tell them your heart skips a beat every time they enter your sights. 

She explained how much pride she took in caring for her feet. It was like I struck a golden sympathetic nerve.


Jackpot.

The last day of class arrived. I had received the highest grade in class, she was close behind (second or third highest). Neither of us brought it up. The semester was over, we didn’t say goodbye, simply “laters,” and I felt it – WE – felt it. That colloquial pitfall, the emptiness in the conversation where one of us (most likely me) should have asked the other a question; that one question that could have changed our lives. She handled a relationship checkered with deceit, yet I still said nothing because I didn’t need another “friend,” and while I did feel a soul-twining connection with her, I got the impression that she was the type of woman who enjoyed drama. 

Drama - none for me thank you. 

Still, she haunts my thoughts and most recently my dreams. We’ve never seen each other since, never spoken; neither of us knows if the other is even still alive. I can only hope she’s happy. I don’t’ want her to be content. I want her to be happy. 

Maybe I could’ve used a little drama. 

Moving on….all we've ever done....all we can ever do.

I Got Your Flipping Bird Right Here!

It seems hard to believe (cough) but my brain has almost completely replaced a waving gesture and all of its possible meanings with simply giving everyone the middle finger. 

I know, right? That is so unlike me…….(cough)

I spotted this man right when I parked at the gas station, so contact seemed inevitable - I walked across the parking lot to fill up the car when a traveling salesman beckoned me towards his vehicle to check out his merchandise, which I had neither the money nor the interest. I raised my hand to politely wave him off. As my hand ascended I felt it forming the “fuck you” gesture. Quickly, I snapped myself out of it and up came a cupped wave, the kind queens do at a parade. 

Perhaps I use it a little to much? 

NNNNAAAAAA.

Like most gestures, the origin of flipping the bird is muddled by time and talk. Some people believe it began in ancient Greece in their comedies. It was an insulting signal, just like today. It was also believed to mean that the person you aimed it to enjoyed anal penetration – katapugon for man and katapugaina for women.

However, there are different meanings for different areas of the world. Some places designated it to warding off evil. My personal favorite origin comes from a recently disproven legend. In 1813, when the British battled the French; whenever a British archer was captured, their middle finger was severed to abstain them from firing another arrow ever again, so once word got around of the French soldiers’ deeds whenever a British archer flung his arrow he would flip off his enemies. Again, this theory has been discredited, but I like the story behind it. 

 Now, if you'd be so kind....

Monster Dog (1984) - Movie Review

Vince Raven (Alice Cooper) has left his tiny, one-horse hometown far behind and become a famous rock singer. However, it’s been decided that he’ll return home to film his next music video. Upon returning he runs into the sheriff whose known Vince since his childhood. He heeds Vince a warning, telling him about recent bizarre, gruesome murders that have occurred around town which makes Vince believe that the werewolves he had known about and possibly encountered when he was a boy were still around. It turns out that Vince may have more to fear from the paranoid townsfolk than the wild dogs running amok as if possessed by a sinister force.

Ah, the 1980’s; was there ever a better year for horror? It’s certainly debatable. Monster Dog contains everything there is to love and dislike about horror movies from the era (perhaps even in general). 

Sidenote: If you really do want to debate it, my buddy John of the Dead can help you kickstart your discussion. 

Bad acting – check; it was a blast watching Alice Cooper take the lead in a horror film, but it’s a good thing he stuck to music. The supporting cast doesn’t do themselves any favors either, but that’s half the fun (even the dogs that are supposed to be blood thirsty mongrels seem clueless and bored half the time, but they know how to chase people). 

Bad audio – check. It’s an Italian movie that was later overdubbed in English. I can’t tell if Alice Cooper overdubbed his lines, but my money is on no.

Nudity – nope; passable story – check. Good special effects with nicely applied gore – big check. Unfortunately, the main creature is so large, only its head could fit into a shot. No arms, no torso; just a giant head that looks like it should have ten Chinese celebrators enjoying the New Year. It’s like one giant sock puppet with ears and teeth. 

 Monster Dog comes to us courtesy of director/writer Claudio Fragasso under the name Clyde Anderson (one of several pseudonyms). He’s probably better known as Drake Floyd, the writer/director of the globally, critically lambasted Troll 2 and helped take the reins of Zombi 3 (he was also the writer) after Lucio Fulci’s abrupt departure from filming.

Monster Dog is a bad movie, but in the glory days of cheesiness and absurdity that were the 1980’s, it does exactly what it was intended to do – tell a story and spill some blood. Alice Cooper (with his cool factor) in the lead role is definitely a bonus. His acting isn’t. He’s Freddy Krueger’s daddy, damnit!