COLD PREY (2006) - the ski horror genre finally incorporates the foreign film genre

I guess I’m backing into a ski horror degree. I’ve already reviewed the likes of Iced, Blood Tracks, Satan’s Blade, and Frozen, and I’ve also seen Shredder, and now I’m reviewing Cold Prey. Once I catch up with Cold Prey 2, I’ll finally have my MFA in ski horror studies. I say “backing in” because I have absolutely no interest in skiing. I tried skiiing once, fell over, and promptly gave up. I have tried many similar activities (skateboarding, surfing, rollerskating, etc.) and have quickly given up under similar circumstances. If I try something that’s supposed to be fun, and instead of having fun I almost die, I quit and move on to something else. I know you’re not supposed to give up, but instead push on through difficult times, but I don’t think a pleasant activity should be a borderline life and death proposition. Thankfully, I’ve never been skydiving, as failure in that case means certain death.

So, I think my MFA thesis is either going to be about the fact that it’s easy to break a leg when skiing, which will incapacitate a group of teens (they can’t just leave their buddy to die), or maybe the cold isolation that comes with a snowy mountain mountain range. It’s basically a convenient setup for a horror film, and a pretty effective setting. Cold Prey employs both of these aspects in spades in order to weave a standard slasher tale. Iced would be the one ski horror film that actually cares about skiing and weaves it into the plot. Maybe I’ll just print out my review for Iced and hand it in for my final paper. I’ll probably have to edit out the naughty words and sexual references and replace them with film professor friendly words (like “diegesis” and “oeuvre”).

The one innovation that Cold Prey brings to the ski slasher is that it’s Norwegian. Granted, the actors and filmmakers have no choice in the matter, being from Norway, but I still give them credit anyway. However, there aren’t many things in the film to identify it as Norwegian, except for the fact that the teens in the film all speak Norwegian. That’s probably a good thing, as otherwise they wouldn’t be able to understand each other. However, you don’t really get to learn any exotic facts about the culture. For example, did you know that it snows so much in Norway that you legally have to eat at least one snow cone a day? Also, did you know that penguins automatically have the right of way when crossing the street? Or, that the national anthem is a black metal song? Just some fun facts. Also, Norway has a bunch of hot Norwegian chicks, many of which have tattoos...it’s true!

So, while it’s not “innovative” or “post-modern”, that’s not to its detriment. Most slashers post-Scream are “post-modern” to some degree, as far as I’m concerned. Even those modern slasher filmmakers who claim that they’re “going back to the roots of the genre”, or “kicking it old school”, usually end up with a “retro” version of the post-modern slasher. One modern film that managed to feel like a “classic slasher” without going retro is Wrong Turn, and Cold Prey comes across as the Scandinavian Wrong Turn, although not as good (keep in mind, I REALLY like Wrong Turn). A solid slasher relies on suspense, shock, and atmosphere, and needs to feature characters who aren’t total douchnozzles. Cold Prey manages to hit these bullet points, and also throws in a Turbonegro song on the soundtrack. Yeah, I know, foreigners make you uncomfortable, but I think you can make an exception here.

P.S. This film was written as part of the Final Girl Film Club. You can read Stacie's review here. She actually spends some time talking about the movie and explaining stuff.

FROZEN (2010) - another reason not to go skiing, on top of the fact that I am horrible at skiing and am deathly afraid of dying in cold isolation

Most ski lifts are frankly rickety pieces of shit. They occasionally stop without warning, forcing people to wait in terror while a dude making minimum wage attempts to fix whatever part of the archaic belt and pulley system happens to be fucked up. Many of us in this post X-Games world have experienced this, but the results are usually more awkward and annoying than truly horrifying.

Frozen presents a unique spin on the phenomenon, as three young people are stuck on a ski lift because they were left behind after the ski resort was closed down, and not because the lift is shitty and archaic (although it is). Being stuck ANYWHERE after it closes must be scary as balls. Imagine being locked in a mall after closing and unable to escape. Even though there’s the promise of awesome fun, like being able to browse the Sharper Image store without being pressured by slimebag salesmen, or a free run at any unholy Cinnabon of your choice (maybe the Satanbon, or the 7 lb. Chernobylbon), you’re probably going to be scared shitless, trapped within such a hopeless consumer environ.

The film combines these two fears to create a smart horror gimmick. A couple of times a year, there’s a surprise hit horror movie that introduces a new slant on familiar material. You know, like “remember Saw? Well, this is just like Saw, except IT TAKES PLACE AT A CLOWN COLLEGE!” Or, “remember Scream? This is just like Scream EXCEPT IT TAKES PLACE AT A SCHOOL FOR ELVIS IMPERSONATORS!!!”. You get the idea. The best thing I can say about Frozen, the occasional wart notwithstanding, is that the combination of gimmicks presented are based in things that are actually frightening, as opposed to merely things that are gimmicky, if you follow.

For me personally, I think I would invite such gross negligence against my persons by a ski resort. After all, most of them are swimming in privileged white cash, like a Scrooge McDuck, and such a punitive oversight would lead to a multi-million dollar settlement and a ticket on the gravy train, where the stewardesses massage your feet for free. Of course, I would have to survive this endeavor, but, unlike the three young people featured in the film, I have seen the movie Tango and Cash. Therefore, I know to immediately take my belt off, flex my pecs a bit (for the ladies), and use the belt to slide down the cable to safety.

Hopefully this scene from Tango and Cash is realistic in it’s portrayal of belt and cable physics. Otherwise, I’m pretty much fucked, what with the freezing cold, and oncoming snow flurries, and the height between the lift and the ground, not to mention the supreme isolation. One character decides to jump down to safety, but unwisely tries to land on both legs, snapping them like twigs. Remember kids, if you have to fall from a high distance, use your shoulder to break the fall and try to roll into it. You’ll probably shatter your arm, but you can at least walk away to safety. There are also some wolves that pop in and start eating someone, which I find a bit unbelievable (a lupus ex machina, perhaps), but maybe these are really smart wolves that know that if they hang around a ski resort long enough, some tasty human will break a leg, and a 200 lb. dinner will, in effect, be served.

If all of this sounds grim, that is, three people hanging above a sisyphean mountain, unable to so much as roll a boulder as they rot through with frostbite, there is some actual levity to be had. Granted, most of the “funny” dialogue is not very funny, perhaps a realistic portrait of young people attempting to divert attention from the hopelessness of their situation with smart alecky asides. However, there is one genuinely funny joke uttered by a character, namely, “what did the 14 year old New Hampshire girl say to her dad when she lost virginity? Get off me, you’re crushing my Malboros.” Every great joke has a serious lesson, and the lesson here is…kids, please, don’t smoke. You’ll be ever consumed by tar and nicotine, to the point where you won’t even notice when your dad is raping you. Also, you’ll get cancer and die, and dying of cancer is even sadder than being forced to push a big rock up a mountain. At least with the latter you’re getting some exercise and fresh air.

P.S. Written as part of the final girl film club over at Final Girl. Here is a link, and from there you can click on Stacie's review of Frozen, where she will probably explain some details that I didn't bother with. Just a guess.

THE CHURCH (1989) - the most boring place on earth just got balls out exciting, thanks to the demented Italians and their gothic horrors

The second in a very unofficial (i.e. only recognized by myself) underage Asia Argento horror trilogy (the others being Demons 2 and Trauma), The Church is another one of those Italian horror movies where Satan is unleashed (or your preferred source of evil) and random awesome shit happens and people get killed (see Fulci's Gates of Hell and The Beyond). Anyone can die at any time, just like real life (except for Asia; she's too adorable). Where as the American horror counterpart may show a coed getting decapitated with a chainsaw (which is awesome in it's own way, granted), the Italians really go for baroque (I apologize up front for that one, and on the back end for that matter), twisting a great tradition of gothic art into something cinematic and sinister, leaving teenagers limbless in it's wake.

The Church makes this dynamic the central core of the plot, what with the lovely Barbara Cupitsi (of Soavi's Stage Fright) working at a cathedral, restoring one of those rad paintings of Satan eating people and looking awesome. I'm not sure why a beautiful old church would have a giant painting of Satan hanging on the wall, not to mention the creepy gargoyles. It looks more like a place where Glenn Danzig would spend his summers, but what the heck do I know about religion.

The painting, along with a creepy priest and some ancient parchments (and a Knights Templar prologue), all help to unleash an avalanche of Satanic tomfoolery. I could make the case that director Michele Soavi goes postmodern within the genre at hand, just as he did with Stage Fright, where the killer existed to knowingly create stylish set pieces, rather than given a traditional back story and motive and what have you. However, I'm no Jacques Derrida. Even Derrida would argue that even he is no Jacques Derrida, but a combination of identity, self and otherwise, and an undeconstructable human mass of chemicals and what have you. Granted, "mass of chemicals" is a deconstructed label, but I gotta call him something. It's hard to make a reference to something without using words, as no one will know what the hell you're referring to. Boy, language is fucking confusing.

If you're not turned on by post-modernism, there's always Asia Argento. Of course, I'm referring to the adult version, and not the cutie pie underage version from the aforementioned trilogy. Granted, she has a nude shower scene in Trauma, but it was clearly of an artistic nature. I'm no pervert folks. Really I'm not.


So, in summary, if you like horror movies, please watch this fucker asap. It's on Netflix instant watch in the U.S. as we speak. Canadians and other weird foreigners may be up Shit's Creek without a paddle, but if you take a vacation to a place called "Shit's Creek", you deserve whatever is coming to you. Therefore, I don't want to spoil all of the random gothic horror foolishness when you can just as easily watch it yourself. However, I would like to make mention of one quick throwaway. You see, when I initially saw the film (maybe 2002), I had an instant feeling of deja vu come over my body when I saw this:

I soon realized where I had seen this image. It's a recreation of a Boris Vallejo painting, forced into the film for no logical purpose. Then again, logic had already been tossed into the paper shredder by the time this small bit shows up, so maybe it make sense on a thematic or subconscious level. Instead of an old painting causing various horrors, here we have an odd erotic horror insert modeled after a modern painting. I guess it's all a part of Michele Soavi's self-reflexivity, a feverish anagram of the old and the new, where different mediums crash into each other in reckless hyper-exstasis. To put it another way: Satan + naked chicks = awesome.

While we're on the topic, here's another bit of reused Boris Vallejo artwork antics I noticed. I propose that the following VHS cover art for the Italian swashbuckler Ms. Stiletto is based off of another Vallejo painting, whether a variation painted by Mr. Boris himself, or possibly a slightly illegal appropriation.



Either way, it's some more epic Vallejo-penned ass on display. The man is a genius. While he paints a decidedly erotic portrait of demon sex, I would advise against any sort of demon/ lizard man affair in the real world, as it always ends in heartache, just like those satanic contracts penned in blood. Reptiles make selfish lovers, and will slither away with your heart, and anything else they can get their claws on.

P.S. This was written as part of Stacie Ponder's Final Girl film club. Read her review here, or Satan will grab your ass and leave claw marks. Even if your into that sort of thing, I think you should still read it.

THE INITIATION OF SARAH (1978) - Carrie-sploitation rendered as sorority house tragedy

Here's the opening of the film, although you can watch the whole thing currently on Netflix instant watch in the U.S.. Canadians might be S.O.L. on this one. I hope not eh.

Sarah is painfully shy, but thankfully she has a hot sister (Patty) that takes pity on her (pity tinged with love). Normally, Sarah would spend her summers at home, but Patty invites her to the beach. However, a local studmuffin swimmer happens upon them and offers to teach Patty a special swimming maneuver (no doubt a variant of the breaststroke), ditching Sarah in the process, and showing what happens when you try to hang out with your hot sister at the beach. Anyway, as a faceless male who isn’t wearing a shirt, he immediately tries to rape Patty (made for TV rape, but still), all in full view of invisible wallflower Sarah. Thankfully, this supposed wallflower manages to summon up some telekinetic powers, causing the dude to fall over. While not quite as exciting as a karate chop to the balls, it successfully puts the kibosh on the sister rape, and that’s what’s important.

Well, we flash forward to the fall, where the sisters leave home to begin college together, as a team. The wily reader may find it curious that these sisters are both in the same year of schooling. Maybe their mother plopped them both out within a 17 month span, refusing to give her vagina a well deserved break in the interim. Unfortunately, Patty was forcibly squeezed out too soon, leaving her with a less developed brain, causing her to be held back a grade in school. Oh wait, Sarah was adopted. That totally makes sense. After all, the sisters could not be more different from each other, unless one of them was Asian or something. I’m glad rich whitebread parents adopt disadvantaged children from third world countries, if for no better reason than you can quickly discern which kids are adopted. Anyway, the villain is quickly established when they drive by one of the head sorority bitches who stands around and judges them. She’s played by Morgan Fairchild and wears a sweater tied around her neck, which, in this case, is all the character development you really need.

The sisters scope out the local sorority houses, hoping to pledge themselves into a Greek institution (that sounds vaguely dirty, but I am unable to connect the dots here). I don’t know about you, but I have a feeling that socially awkward angst + telekinesis + pledge hazing = trouble (if my math is on point). Well, they happen into Morgan’s sorority, and a portly pledge quickly explains that this particular sisterhood only cares about money and looks, while academics are completely ignored (along with substance and basic morality, it would seem). In a sad twist of fate (via a cunt-ruled hierarchy), Morgan wants Patty to pledge but refuses to even consider Sarah, driving a potentially catastrophic wedge between the two sisters, potentially breaking up the team, as it were (not to mention possibly taking away Sarah’s only friend in the world).

Taking a break from all the human drama, the sisters happen upon a very angry dog. Sarah again uses her powers to telekinetically communicate with the dog to leave them the fuck alone, maybe convincing it that there's a squirrel convention going on nearby. Their sorority house tour takes them to the PED house (not “performance enhancing drugs”; just some Greek numbers) where the girls actually do homework and stuff, instead of just sitting around all day feathering their hair (Morgan Fairchild in the seventies, natch). Sarah seems to actually enjoy the company of these “weirdos” (to the extent that she can enjoy company), but her high falluting sister is less than impressed. While they are pretty much polar opposites, potentially being driven away from each other into competing cliques, Patty does look out for her sister, even attempting to fix her hair and make her look all pretty like. However, during a phone conversation, their rich bitch mother tells Patty to go ahead and ditch Sarah and join the rich bitch sorority. She explains that she pities Sarah, but her mom tells her to grow a pair and not be swayed by such trivial emotion. After all, Sarah's not really a sister and a daughter, but an object of pity who is lucky someone even bothered to give her a place to live. Unfortunately, Sarah overhears the conversation, getting psychically riled up again. She stares angrily into a mirror until it cracks, leaving only her own fractured portrait. While not as explosively exciting as maybe watching her shoot lasers out of her eyes and blowing shit up, it all seems rather fitting under the circumstances.

Of course, Patty gets into Morgan’s sorority, and Sarah into the PED house. As part of her pledging, Patty is cruelly forced to proclaim in front of her sister that she will no longer associate with PEDs, “pigs elephants and dogs” (so THAT’S what it stands for; I probably shouldn’t have assumed it was Greek). This sets off Sarah yet again (as it would anyone), and her anger causes a piano to nearly miss crushing her sister. As it happens, a group of guys were lifting the piano just as Patty was walking underneath. I don’t know why assholes are always trying to lift pianos five stories with a couple of bungee cords. You can’t carry the fucking thing up a flight of stairs? At least it’s not as bad as when two guys carry a big pane of glass across the street during a chase scene. You know, a cop is in hot pursuit of a criminal in a motorcycle chase when, suddenly, two schmucks carry a piece of glass across the street, oblivious to the sound of roaring engines. The biker criminal narrowly escapes smashing through the glass, but the cop is not so lucky, crashing through and flying 120 feet in the air as crime wins again. My point is, why the fuck do people need glass transported by hand instead of by truck? Does an office building get a new window put in, and they pay some movers to carry the old window to a trash dump across the street? Even if they actually have some asinine reason to do so, how about you use the fucking crosswalk? Boy, I’ll rant about anything. Either way, this is the most batshit insane movie/T.V. cliche ever devised. To think someone would even have the balls to try it once boggles the mind.

Well, the house mother of PED is played by Shelly Winters, which is a bit of an omen, I guess (or maybe totally fitting). PED sister Tisa Farrow gives Sarah a tour of this creepy sorority house straight out of a horror movie (well, this is sort of a horror movie, I guess), while Morgan tours Patty through a brightly lit sorority house palace of sorts. To further accentuate the difference between the two sororities, Morgan Fairchild is very Morgan Fairchild-esque, while Tisa is highly skittish and neurotic, whose sole pastime is playing the violin in a sad and empty room. She even mentions that she got “sent away” a couple of times. I guess she’s a bit depressed about being the lesser Farrow, and by lesser, I mean she never got to schnook Woody Allen. Well, I hope not. You know, I wouldn’t put it past him actually. I need to stop dwelling on this point lest visuals begin to pop into my already diseased noggin.

Well, Sarah actually does attend a class at some point (they make you do this in college for some reason, even if you’re totally hungover). She is asked to write a paper on the “duality of personality” by her studly teacher, potentially inspiring Sarah to explore her secret ability (amongst other potential inspirations). The next scene is practically drawing room comedy. Morgan invites Patty for coffee, dragging her away from her sister, and Tisa asks Sarah if she too wants to go for coffee, and she frustratingly says “the whole world’s drinking coffee! No thanks!” The teacher then pops in and asks her, again, if she wants to dig on some java, and she happily agrees. However, she senses him getting close to her and bails, scared of any potential human connection. Then again, maybe she just really hates coffee. I guess she’s like the opposite of Too Much Coffee Man, that is, "Absolutely No Coffee Under Any Circumstances Woman". Anyway, she does eventually sit down with the teacher and, for the first time, discusses her “power” with someone (first time in the film anyway). This bodes well for Sarah, as she appears to be ashamed of her powers (on top of just regular shame), and she has apparently found someone who can understand her both analytically and as a scared little girl who remains an outcast incapable of connecting with people. Also, he’s, like, bodaciously hot and stuff.

Morgan cruelly makes fun of Tisa and her violin (which is sort of like insulting Tori Amos’ piano), and Sarah knocks her into a nearby fountain with her mind. She then stands up for Tisa, and concurrently herself, laying a speech on Morgan about how she is ugly on the inside and doesn’t care about other people’s feelings. It seems that wallflower Sarah has finally stood up for herself in more direct, human fashion, instead of relying on an ability that is mysterious to others (and even herself really). Her speech seems to actually inspire Morgan to rethink her cunty ways, and she tells Patty that she may just pledge Sarah after all. This sets up the prolonged finale, both wacky and tragic, where Sarah’s previously subtle and believable powers (to the extent that telekinesis is believable) amp up to something else entirely. There’s a possible satanis ex machina (that’s like the hand of god intervening during an ending, but with Satan instead), along with a cameo by the hedge maze from The Shining. It’s called a fucking climax folks.

Of course, the whole thing is a big ass Carrie ripoff, but a highly worthwhile one. Brian DePalma’s film works as an operatic gothic laced with religious satire, while The Initiation of Sarah turns it’s eye squarely on Sarah’s basic human plight, a teenaged outsider unable to fit in, too stricken with shame and esteem issues to develop meaningful relationships. It’s the sort of quaint human story you find in a lot of 70’s made-for-TV movies (and even after school specials), dressed up as a thriller of sorts. Gimmicky touches and psychic powers aside, it works wonderfully well as an emotionally honest portrait of a character many of us can relate to (assuming you’re not a stuck up bitch/douchebag/young Republican). A lot of the credit squarely goes to Kay Lenz in the titular role, a woefully underrated actress. Check out Clint Eastwood’s Breezy for further evidence. It’s one of those May-December romance deals (as opposed to a January-February romance, which is a toddler boinking a newborn), co-starring William Holden. If you doubt her prowess, let me just point out that she played the ugly dork sister despite being super hottie Kay Lenz, and I bought her character every millisecond she was on screen. In Hollywood, they would normally just take some hot actress, wrap her hair up, put glasses on her and call it a day. After all, when a “typical” Hollywood audience is enjoying a piece of entertainment about people who are ugly/fat/emotionally tortured or otherwise “socially defective”, they don’t want to have to identify with people who are unattractive and/or lacking in confidence. No, the audience needs something to fix their eyes on as popcorn is collectively shoveled into a sea of faceless heads.

P.S. This was written as part of Stacie Ponder's Final Girl Film Club. Check out her review here.

P.P.S. This is the first in a series of reviews for sorority/fraternity pledge horror films. I will explain this better soon, and maybe come up with a catchy/not ungainly name for it as well.

ONIBABA (1964) - a Buddhist parable is transformed into a bleak fairy tale and regurgitated as round-eye haiku

wasteland of tall reeds
hidden from society
rests on edge of hell

mother and daughter
scrounge like rats, empathy blank
life amongst abyss

social rot extends
subjugates in absentia
metaphor as myth

bodies stripped of worth
scraps traded for sustenance
now meat for the maw

purgatory hole
trash pit of bones, barren path
wayward souls consumed

triangle of lust
transform feral animals
to humans debased

demon head forebodes
in presence, not deed nor speech,
jealous tragedy

***

Woman in the Dunes, released the same year, might be the ying to Onibaba’s yang (or the yang to the ying; I forget which is which). The former is about a scientist that ends up trapped in a sand hole with a woman, and the latter is about a mother and daughter that are effectively trapped in a marsh surrounding a deep hole, and a soldier enters into their world. Both feature an erotically charged dynamic amongst a tactile wilderness, all enveloped in a tragic existential pall. However, Woman in the Dunes takes place in the desert and revolves around a stuffy, respectable member of society, while Onibaba takes place in a wetland area, featuring a feral mother and daughter at the lowest strata of society. Both are forced to explore somewhat similar territory, an erotic tragedy of the earth, but from opposite ends of the human race.

P.S. Written as part of the Final Girl Film Club. Here is Stacie Ponder's review, which actually explains the plot and stuff, which I was too lazy to do.

HELLBOUND (1994) - when it's Chuck Norris vs. Satan, all bets are off, regardless of what the bookies are trying to sell you

This has absolutely nothing to do with the movie, but I can't resist using this opportunity to showcase Warlock (featuring Doro Pesch on vokills) performing their smash hit "Hellbound"

Satan. That asshole again. Just when the ice cream social is getting good, a warm gathering of innocent souls, that jerk smuggles in a bottle of Jagermeister underneath his trenchcoat, emptying the contents into the punch bowl. When this good Christian get together starts to crumble into an orgy of booze and filth, he slips a sheet of LSD into the punch. Soon, women are being raped on the dance floor, people are smothering themselves in human blood and setting people on fire, and limbs are ripped off and eaten for no good reason. All the nice people wanted was to enjoy some Ben & Jerry’s Chunky Monkey and, at most, hold hands.

This metaphorically represents Satan’s utterly ruthless plan to corrupt the morals of the human race just because, well, why not. It’s loads of fun, I guess. Thankfully, America still has HEROES. Real fucking men of ACTION. Hey Satan, what is that above your head? Why, it looks like a bald eagle (Chuck Norris in metaphoric guise), sweeping down with a bible in it’s claws, smacking you over the head. As Satan lies squirming in his death throes, his head crushed under the weight of moral law (after all, the bible weighs more than the Qu’ran and the Torah put together), Chuck will be cheerfully watching on, digging into a giant slice of apple pie, with a scoop or two of Chunky Monkey, of course. Remember…don’t fuck with God’s America.

CHUCK NORRIS FACT BREAK: He can beat the shit out of you. I don’t care who you are. So...you’re wearing platemail I see. Doesn’t matter. It will only take him two hits: he hits you, and you hit afterlife.

Well, as far as the movie goes, it starts off with a prologue that takes place in the 12th century, where an army of holy crusader knights locate Satan in a cave somewhere trying to sacrifice a baby (figures…dick). You can tell it’s him because of that slowed down Satan voice that sounds like a Slayer 45 played at 33 RPM. They manage to bury him in a tomb, but some graverobber assholes eventually let him out sometime in the 20th century. God knows I’ve been broke (well, invariably, actually), but it never occurred to me to start digging up corpses. I usually just throw some useless shit on ebay.

CHUCK NORRIS FACT BREAK: He doesn’t go fishing, but instead imagines that he would like to have fish for dinner. A trout promptly exits the ocean, heads over to Chuck’s mansion (catching a cab if need be), and tells him “hey, how’s it going. Anyway, I’m a fish, and I heard you were hungry, so I’d thought I’d just pop over and spare myself the indignities of further suffering. Also, it’s a convenient time saver for you, so really, it’s a win-win situation we got going on here.”

ANYWAY, Chuck Norris plays a grizzled Chicago cop on the edge. He’s one violation away from becoming a meter maid, the chief has to constantly explain his actions to the mayor, and yes…he’s too old for this shit. While Chuck looks for every opportunity to rough up criminals, even begging them to punch him in the face if need be (remember, you don’t punch Chuck in the face; he face butts your hand), his partner is the token black cop (Jackson), cracking wise while Chuck is cracking skulls. Jackson is constantly looking for Bulls playoff tickets, which would presumably mean the 93 finals against Phoenix, if I’m piecing things together correctly. Curiously, there is a playoff game playing on TV at one point, and it clearly shows the Pistons and Spurs playing, even though they never met in the playoffs until the 2005 finals. Way to confuse the issue, Mr. stock footage guy. Jackson also suspiciously looks like Whoopi Goldberg, which confounds me even further. Also, what kind of name is Whoopi Goldberg for a black lady? I don’t want to sound racist, but it sounds like it should be the name of a borscht belt comedienne. If Joy Behar’s real name was Whoopi Goldberg, I wouldn't bat an eye. I’m sorry, that was inappropriate…and irrelevant, frankly. This shit ain't about no women.

CHUCK NORRIS FACT BREAK: Don’t show up to his house to pick his daughter up for a date. If you do this, he will kill you. Also, don’t masturbate while thinking of his daughter. Again…instant death.

Well, Satan is enjoying this earthly guise of his, spending quality time with a hooker in a cheap Chicago motel. A rabbi shows up to deliver something (isn’t that a Henny Youngman joke?), part of a sceptre, I guess, when he suddenly stabs Satan with a ceremonial dagger. This irks Beezlescratch to no end, so he rips the rabbi’s heart out and holds it in one hand, while he uses the other hand to throw the hooker through the window. I don’t know what she did to deserve that, but I guess she was going to get suspicious when she got out of the bathroom and saw a rabbi lying there missing vital organs. Unfortunately for Satan, the hooker lands on the hood of Chuck’s car, the one guy on the planet you don’t want catching you crushing his car with a hooker. He promptly investigates the disturbance, coming upon Satan hiding in the dark, telling him “you’re all heart” (it’s called a softball). Beezlefucker retorts with “speaking of hearts!”, tossing the rabbi’s heart near a confounded Chuck (and it’s pretty fuckin’ hard to confound the Chuckster). Oh, the smarmy wit of pure evil materialized.

The observant viewers among us may remember that this “have a heart” gag also showed up in both Dreamscape and Psycho Cop. I guess if you ever find yourself holding the still beating heart of another human being, it would be damn near impossible not to throw out some heart pun, no matter how inappropriate it would seem within the given situation. Anyway, chuck tries to shoot Satan, but he’s pretty invincible as far as these things go, and Satan escapes. Jackson eventually shows up, shocked by the heartless rabbi lying around (I think an episode of Curb Your Enthusiasm was based around a similar character). He incredulously says “his heart’s gone!”, to which Chuck dryly retorts “no it isn’t”, pointing to the disembodied organ that Jackson nearly steps on. Oh how we laughed, those innocent days gone by.

CHUCK NORRIS FACT BREAK: His cock is a machine gun that shoots freedom lasers that can eradicate the souls of unpatriotic knuckleheads. Not that I know this from first hand experience, mind you. I read about it in Newsweek. Really I did.

Now on to the boring paperwork. They have to figure out why someone would want to rip a rabbi’s heart out, throw a hooker through a window, and then hurl borderline witticisms at a confused Chuck Norris. Chuck is at a loss, but Jackson keenly suggests that Satan, the rabbi, and the hooker were having a menage a trois, and the rabbi was hogging the girl. I don’t know about you, but I think if you’re having relationship problems, you should try and talk it over first, and not just immediately resort to ripping out people’s organs. Now, this certainly doesn’t resemble the cold logical analysis of an efficient detective, but I can’t help but like this guy’s spunk, Whoopi-isms be damned. I mean, it takes balls to offer that up as a legitimate criminal scenario with confidence and a smile. Also, I can’t help but mention that the rabbi’s name was Moredcai Schindler, which is sort of like naming your dog “Fido McRuffer”.

So, the cops grab the head of the scepter and go globe trotting for clues and shit, attempting to sort out this tangled hooker/rabbi/Satan clusterfuck. Rather than watching Chuck descend into hell and beat up demons and stuff like you might imagine from the poster, the film becomes a very low rent Indiana Jones knock off, like the boring parts of The Last Crusade strung together, with an annoying brat tagging along through a good chunk of the run time a la Temple of Doom. I guess a better comparison would be Cannon’s own Indy rip Firewalker, with Chuck and Louis Gossett Jr. teaming up to sleepwalk through an idiotic adventure while exchanging some of the worst one liners this side of Psycho Cop (or Hellbound).
This film was supposedly Cannon’s last theatrical release before they hit bankruptcy. While the absurd opening reaches the delirious heights we love to see from many a Cannon trash production, much of the film remains a cloying last gasp to reach an audience with commercial elements while not delivering the exploitation goods.

CHUCK NORRIS FACT BREAK: He can beat the shit out of Satan. I know, I stayed awake for the limp ending of Hellbound.

Unfortunately, I don’t come into a Chuck Norris film for an array of clue solving. I wanna see Chuck standing tall, his American flag Zubaz fluttering in the wind, his feathered mullet glistening in the holy sun. Some asshole approaches him, complaining about U.S. foreign policy, hegemony schmegemony and the like, and he courageously roundhouses him in the head, his imperial cowboy boot dislodging this poor bastard's jaw from the rest of his skull. That’ll teach ‘em to fuck with old glory.

One good thing to come out of my second viewing of the film is that it inspired me to write a song. While not up to the standards of Warlock, I think you too can find inspiration in this little ditty (sung to the tune of “Freebird”)

I’M PROUD TO BE AN AMERICAN
WHERE AT LEAST I KNOW I’M FREE
AND I WON’T FORGET THE MAN THAT BEAT THE SHIT OUT OF SATAN
TO GIVE THAT RIGHT TO ME
AND I’D GLADLY STAND UP
AND POLITELY ASK CHUCK NORRIS TO DEFEND HER STILL TODAY
‘CAUSE THEY’RE AIN’T NO DOUBT I LOVE EATING AT BURGER KING, WATCHING JERSEY SHORE, AND BUYING TITTY MUGS AT SPENCER’S GIFTS
GOD BLESS CHUCK NORRIS AND THE U.S.A. (IN THAT ORDER)

-“Proud To Be An American (Like Chuck Norris)”

P.S. This was written as part of Stacie Ponder's Final Girl film club. Here is her review! If you don't read it, you are dumb, and Satan will win.

THE HOUSE OF THE DEVIL (2009) - it's movies like this that makes me think that babysitters should finally unionize

Jocelin Donahue attempts to remain snuggly and plain, yet still quite ravishing, amidst dying trees and decaying architecture

Surprisingly, there are more than a few pizza related horrors in film. For example, in The Slumber Party Massacre, a pizza boy gets his eyes drilled out but still manages to deliver the pies. I guess that “thirty minutes and under” rule is etched into the very soul of a pizza boy. Look no further than those banged up Toyota Corollas with pizza signs, ripping through the neighborhood, rolling through stop signs like nobody’s business. Another example is the “pizza of souls” from A Nightmare On Elm Street Part 4, where instead of being trapped in purgatory, the spirits of the kids are trapped inside chunks of Italian sausage, littered on top of a living pizza. Worst of all is that Noid fucker from the “avoid the Noid” campaign by Domino's. I don’t know why a pizza needs a mascot, but it’s irrelevant, since I will continue to take the advertiser’s advice and “avoid” Mr. Noid and his “pizza” like the plague.

Another entry in the “pizza-sploitation” genre is The House of the Devil, about a babysitter (Jocelin Donahue) that wanders around a big creepy house (Satan isn’t going to be living in a studio apartment in Van Nuys, after all). Of course, all of this aimless exploring leaves her hungry, so she calls the number for a pizza place recommended to her by the owner of this satanic abode. Earlier in the day, her and her best friend (Greta Gerwig) ate some pie at the local college pizza joint. That pizza was sickly and greasy, setting up the audience to be afraid and disgusted by shitty pizza (like Domino's, for example). Unfortunately, the pizza Jocelin receives is drugged through some sort of vast pisan conspiracy to incapacitate vulnerable babysitters. Normally Satan would just throw a roofie in a champagne glass and call it a night, but he has to adjust his methods to fit the clever young people of today (circa early 80’s).

With Jocelin incapacitated, this enables the devil and his buddies (including Mary Woronov) to attempt to sacrifice her in one of those awesome satanic sacrificial rituals so talked about in the eighties by concerned parents and retard bible thumpers. The whole thing is vaguely erotic, but our sympathies remain with Ms. Donahue, as she fights back against the vague denizens of Mr. Beezlescratch and their plot to apparently sacrifice her for some reason or another. She even gets covered in blood in the process, further adding some sanguine tastiness to the erotica quotient.

This satanic panic showdown and Greta’s death scene stand out amidst a lot of wandering around and what have you. The film is clearly trying to build around these two high points. The murder scene is admirably built towards in the preceding fifteen minutes or so, but the build towards the pretty awesome ending is nowhere near as effective. To quote Hitchcock yet again, “the suspense is in the waiting” (or something like that), but just rolling the camera is not good enough. We wait around in the house with Jocelin for no discernible reason, tapping our watches, instead of soaking in a steady build to an impending horror. While I can certainly appreciate endless shots of the interior of a creepy house, I think it might have been a lot more effective if the director had maintained a good sense of the spatial dynamics of the house, and created a compelling reason for the character to search throughout the home. That way, every dark corner and new doorway could’ve created a potential for danger in the audience’s mind. There is also a somewhat forced in tribute to The Fixx with a musical montage that seems vaguely Tarantino-esque. While probably meant to break the tension, it mostly just reminds me of other 80’s one hit wonders (like Katrina and the Waves and their irresistible ode to irrational happiness “Walking on Sunshine”).

Apart from the two scenes previously mentioned, the two ladies are fairly captivating. Ms. Donahue is quite fetching and surprisingly watchable just wandering around from place to place. Her sidekick, Ms. Gerwig, is a beacon of talent that shone through the otherwise shitty filmography of mumblecore hack Joe Swanberg, and similarly does so here in a fairly limited role. Also, I like that the movie is shot in true blue 16mm, and not pushed 17 stops and filtered to shit like most 16mm movies shot today. There are also plenty of zooms, which I enjoy as a sensual aesthetic in and of itself, but here it seems like an attempt to try and mirror horror films of the early 80’s.

I think if you’re gonna make an “homage” to a period of film, you should probably pilfer either the aesthetic or the period itself, but not both. In this sense, The House of the Devil feels like a hipster’s attempt (albeit one with skill and talent) to recreate a period of genre filmmaking, rather than rip it off for his own artistic gain. After all, someone once said that “the good ones homage, but the great ones steal”, or something like that. If you have a true artistic point of view, you’re probably not worried about stealing specific details, knowing that they will always be filtered through the prism of your imagination.

P.S. This was written as part of Stacie Ponder's Final Girl Film Club. Check out her review here

THE FUNHOUSE (1981) - when the carnival was a defacto descent into madness, and not merely a pretense for selling cotton candy and/or broken fantasies

From color scope to pan and scan black and white, either way, a practical joke between siblings veers into the horrors of Freudian malfeasance.

The opening credits showcase a parade of creepy dolls and mannequins, coming and going through a series of wipes; simulating a funhouse ride. On top of that, the first scene combines the opening of Halloween with the shower scene in Psycho, supplemented with Universal monster memorabilia and such (and Bride of Frankenstein is playing on TV). The twist here is that the creepy younger brother stabs her sister with a rubber knife, resulting in an unpunctured, yet still naked older sister. In a nice, assholey touch, he sticks a knife through the top of a creepy doll’s skull and leaves it for her to discover. Thank god I was never an older sister. Either way, Tobe Hooper is attempting to out self-reflex Brian DePalma in the slasher sweepstakes, refreshingly doing so in a cinematic territory that typically decries such witty meta-fun.

Our heroine Amy, unlike many of her horror movie peers, is truly sympathetic and believable as a girl next door in a small town (read: no fake tits). She has a date for the carnival with some jerk off named Buzz who works at a gas station (read: don’t name your kids “Buzz”). Being that two girls were murdered at the carnival ten years prior, she lies to her parents, telling them that they are going to the movies (where people are safe from the horrors of reality). Buzz looks a little too fast and sleazy for such a nice, wholesome, un-whorish girl like Amy. He even drives a bitchin' car with those big furry dice hanging from the rear view mirror. Why someone would roll furry dice I do not know.

The couple is flanked by our token blonde (thankfully wearing breathtakingly tight red jeans) and our token geek with glasses. After a little “puff, puff, pass”, they finally drive over to the carnival. Amy’s misanthropic little brother Joey sneaks out of the house to follow his sister to the carnival, as playing two disgusting practical jokes on his sibling in one night is apparently not enough.

Much of the run time is dedicated to the various amusements to be found at the carnival. They do the strength test where you smack a bell with a hammer, the wonderfully gimmicky cart rides, cotton candy (the most chemically mysterious of treats), etc. Our girls get some private time together in a very shady looking bathroom, and the blonde tells Amy that she should lose her virginity to Buzz because “he is a pistol". I readily admit I don’t understand women, but I think this means that he has functioning sperm, and isn’t “firing blanks”, as it were (or not, as chicks are a mysterious bunch). This leads into a wonderful scare when a creepy old lady jumps out of a shadowy toilet area and yells out "god is watching you". I guess she is the defacto soothsayer, but I don’t know what the fuck god has to do with any of this. Joey also gets a scare when a trucker pulls a gun on him and pulls the trigger. Unfortunately, the chamber is empty, and the trucker laughs maniacally. If only he knew what he was truly dealing with, he may have saw fit to load some actual fucking bullets.

Well, we finally get to see those carny freak tents. You know, two headed cows, monster fetuses, etc. We also catch wind of William Finley as Marco the Magnificent (bare ass naked in Dionysus '69…oh wait, he’s a dude…never mind), performing his vampire themed magic act, where he impales the heart of a squeamish teenage girl with a wooden stake. Wait a second…she works for the carnival and is in on the trick! Ah, the shameless treachery of it all! Arghh!!!

Another timeless attraction is the fortune teller (played by Sylvia Miles), who rants about the teens meeting a "stranger", but she gets pissed at the nerd (at this point baked out of his mind, eschewing the usual sober math homo), and thereby stops providing plot information . If this attraction seems weak, no problem; there is always the haunted house ride, where, like the opening credits, a bunch of wax dummies and stuff pop out and scare people. For the jaded (male) viewers, we have jiggling breasts courtesy of the burlesque portion of the carnival. Boy…those were the days. You threw on a smoking jacket and headed down to the carny to catch some magic and/or freaks and most definitely a parade of tits. Note to self: bring back the smoking jacket.

Well, the “kids” rightfully decide to spend the night in the funhouse. After all, while the rides are pretty creepy, you really get your money’s worth with a carny sleep over. Pesky fuckface Joey decides to stick around, but as soon as he bumps into that creepy old lady, he resorts to plan B - get the fuck outta dodge. After a quick make out session, the teens notice that they are “resting”above another room, and, through the floorboards, they see that the fortune teller is discussing moolah with some sort of faux-Frankenstein. I guess Frankie felt like he got stiffed, and he electrocutes Sylvia Miles, ending her run as queen of the crystal balls. This leaves our heroes to sneak around (a la Scooby Doo) through the various crevices, back rooms, and connecting tissues of this house of fun. Even little Joey gets his balls back and sneaks back into the carnival (to the extent that he has balls).

Frankenstein goes ape shit and pulls his mask off, revealing a deformed monster face, which is basically the fetus from earlier all grown up. I guess our comforting carnival of freaks has finally hit the reality wall…and so begins the teenie destruction. Of particular note is the blonde getting cornered by one of those fan corridors you only see in horror movies (or Alien 3). She pleads for her life by hitting on the monster, not realizing that most mutants are impotent (unlike studmuffin attendant Buzz).

Amy attempts to escape through the inner workings of the funhouse, in a more emotionally realistic state than others films of similar ilk (i.e. fucking hysterical). Amy doesn't suddenly turn into Rambo when confronted with the monster, but rather, just wants to go home and finish her homework. However, when confronted with certain doom, she does manage to whack the monster a couple of times with a crowbar, which causes him to fall into a live wire that is randomly situated near his villainous vicinity. The next morning, Amy wanders, disheveled and in shock, out of the carnival, while the various workers dismantle everything, unaware of her presence. They are ready to move on to the next town, coldly ignoring the ramifications of their handiwork.

The Funhouse has wonderful scope photography by Andrew Lazlo, as the frame is filled to the brim with onlooking dolls, mannequins, clown heads, and even actual humans, lurking in frame, their penetrating gaze subconsciously influencing a cast of innocents. The movie starts off in realistic terms, becoming more surreal towards the conclusion, achieving this with colorful lighting and expressionistic shadows. These “innocent” suburbanites become confronted with the freak dregs of society over the course of a long night, thereby dissipating their sense of structured existence; forced to deal with humanity in all of it's gloriously deconstructed chaos.


P.S. Written for Stacie Ponder's Final Girl Film Club via the magic of a time machine. Here is her review. She brings up some good points I didn't touch on (like pedophilia, and other fun whatever).

IT'S ALIVE (1974) - my monster baby can beat up your honor student

if children are our future, I wanna stay living in the past

Life sure is funny sometimes. Your career is thriving, your lovely wife is expecting her second child, and your beautiful son is ecstatic that he’ll finally have someone to belittle and occasionally punch in the face. You’ve got a spring in your step and a song in your heart until, one day, life hands you a bowl of lemons, in the form of a retard monster that falls out of your wife’s crotch.

The baby makes its presence felt immediately (as opposed to many of us who are well into their twenties and still haven't made their mark), making quick off screen work of all of the doctors and nurses in the delivery room. The father (John Ryan) hears a ruckus while in the waiting room and rushes over, horrified by the aftermath of this birthing temper tantrum; an orgy of ripped throats and disheveled scrubs.

The scene begins with a shaky low angle tracking shot as John runs down the hallway in a panic, and the carnage of the delivery room is filmed in wide angles and chaotic cross cutting, conveying how shocking and difficult to comprehend the whole scene is. This approach proves extremely effective, as it stylistically contrasts with what came before, and goes to show how contrasts in editing and technique are more effective than just maintaining a similar pattern throughout. If a film is edited with quick cuts throughout dialogue scenes, and an action scene is edited the same way, it is not as effective if the preceding dialogue scenes are shot and edited with a slow, quiet rhythm.

So, the baby beast runs around town killing people, but is barely glimpsed throughout, like the shark from Jaws (but way smaller and uglier). This makes everyone nervous, including the pork officers on the lookout. Amusingly, a group of them hear a baby’s cries and, terrified, they all rush over with their guns drawn, but find a cute, non-mongoloidal baby. The precious tyke initially seems a bit confused as to why there are six .44 magnums within inches of his skull…then he remembers stealing those cookies. Uh oh.

More importantly, this ugly, murderous hellspawn has an extremely adverse effect on the family unit. The mother tries to block out the horror and remain cheerful, and her maternal instincts pulls her toward her mutant baby, trying to protect it. The father, on the other hand, tries to distant himself from this monstrosity while wearing the anguish on his sleeve; two different failing approaches to coping. This also drives a wedge between the parents and their son (the non-retarded one). They send him away to stay at their friend (?) Charley’s house during the pregnancy, and there he stays while the killer baby does his business. John is so ashamed that he tries to keep the entire affair secret from his son, weaving a web of deceit to avoid getting into a discussion about the baby.

If that wasn’t enough, even John’s professional life is falling apart. He has a couple of big accounts he’s working on, but his boss forces him to take his vacation, as the retard baby is bad P.R. for their P.R. firm. John unwillingly agrees, and when he leaves the room, his boss tells his secretary that “John won’t be coming back”. What a spineless piece of shit. Not only that, he heads a public relations firm. To quote the immortal Bill Hicks , “if you’re in advertising or marketing…kill yourself. Seriously. No joke. I don’t care how you do it…just kill yourself.”

This little dig on advertising is one of several bits of social critique in the film, courtesy of director Larry Cohen, who consistently combines NY method improv with monster fueled social commentary. A cop explains at one point that “this is no world to bring a child into” and, later on, when the cops are searching for the killer baby, the camera holds on the back of an ice cream truck with a sign saying “stop the children”. We can read this as a commentary of over population, that the family should be happy with their single child, and not try to fill their empty lives by pushing out another rugrat.

The more substantial bit of commentary involves a little subplot about a drug company that thinks that one of their products led to the disfigured mongoloid. If word got out, their bottom line would take a big hit, what with the lawsuits and bad publicity. So, they bribe a detective to find the baby, shoot first, and ask questions later (though I doubt the baby understands English anyway). It seems the police have competing interests with several scientists from the local university, who want to take the baby alive (or at least not blown to shit) so they can study it. John signs away his rights to these scientists, as this further distances him from the child. Either way, each group is angling the retard baby for their own gain; a golden opportunity with a giant, hydrocephalic head. This further amps up the couple’s anxiety, as they can no longer trust anyone. This is well illustrated when the mother finds that a nurse has been tape recording her conversations, as the nurse occasionally writes columns on the side. Looks like the media has to cash in too.

The film ends in a showdown involving the entire family (including the baby), along with all of the cops and the detectives. These conflicting agendas, whether based in money or science, or the conflict the parents have in whether or not to kill their own flesh and blood, come to a head in a sort of Mexican standoff, albeit more layered than the usual banditos arguing about who drank all the tequila.

At the heart of the film are the excellent performances of the parents, namely John Ryan in the lead role. While normally a character actor, here John relishes his opportunity to star. He brings a boat load of pathos to the role, and wears his inner turmoil and conflict on his face. The title of the film is a reference to the line in Frankenstein, and John mentions at one point that he used to think that “Frankenstein” was the name of the monster, but figured out later that it was actually the name of the doctor. Their identities had melded. The doctor, no matter who he was before the birth of the monster, would always be known as the creator of this beast, just as the father will always be linked to the monstrous child, despite his attempts to brush the whole thing under the rug.

p.s. written at the indirect behest of Stacie Ponder and her Final Girl blog "film club". I guess I'm supposed to link to this:
It's Alive Film Club review - Final Girl