Sunday, May 21, 2017

You In Danger...

AT LONG LAST!  I have seen the brilliance that is Get Out and I have things to say.  Things that may seem like I didn't like it.  Things that may seem as if I'm tearing down this utterly fantastic film.

Are you new here?

All strapped into your comfy chairs?  Are you ready for this?

Let's begin.

So, I'm sure you've heard all about Jordan Peele's horrific vision of the face of modern racism.  Even if you only saw the commercials, you got the gist of what was happening.  Interracial couple goes home to get the black boyfriend introduced to the parents.  You expect the sobbing and the wailing and the gnashing of teeth all Guess who's Coming to Dinner style, right?  The girlfriend being super-positive and "They're gonna love you!" while our guy, played with a sassy smirk throughout the whole film by Daniel Kaluuya, is all "But... I'm black.  You told them, right?  They know what's coming, right?"
The 'Rents are looking particularly white, today.

They DO hit a deer and get racially profiled on the way there and that freaks our hero out, but otherwise the trip to the house is uneventful.

I'm going to do my best to not spoil this but it gets SUPER-weird from here on out.

So, Dad is a neurosurgeon and Mom is a licensed hypnotherapist who REALLY likes her tea.  She has that same cup in her hand throughout the whole movie, kinda like Sharon Stone in Catwoman but without the booze and smug satisfaction of doing a film for the sole purpose of buying a pool.  Sharon was the best part of that movie (which I love for its utter horribleness).  I didn't realize you could actually get paid in highballs.  BOOZE, kids!  The great motivator.

Awwww... he looks so proud of his new token *ahem* potential son in law.

There's a party but that's almost not the important part.  The important part is MOM IS A GODDAMNED HYPNOTIST!  And she's SHADY about it.  Like, doing it without you realizing it until it's too late.  But at least he can quit smoking, so, bonus, I guess.

Oh, and did I mention the Stepford servants?  The ones they say are just like family?  Yeah... hold that thought.  You'll need it at the end.

"Why, no, I didn't make a concerted effort to strand you in Upstate New York with the rich, white folks at ALL!"

There's a twist.  It's a BIG twist.  A twist so audacious, you don't even see it coming until it fucking steamrolls you into a popcorn-filled pancake.  A twist that, had it been used in ANY other manner, would have earned Jordan Peele every Razzie in existence. 

First of all, let me say this.  Holy.  Fuck.  This is fucking AMAZING!

Not as amazing as this guy.  I hate cardio.

This, kids, in the guise of a horror film with some deep comedic roots that knows when to dial back the silly, is "cultural appropriation" writ large and in fucking charge.  The line is obliterated at "appropriation" and sends you screaming straight into cultural PILLAGING.  When you watch the trailers, you think this is all about some kinda slavery thing or some way of forcing the black man into assimilating into white society but it's so much fucking worse than that.

See, these people LIKE African-Americans.  Like, a LOT.  They want to know and understand their culture.  They think that hanging out with "the coloreds" is cool and they're INCREDIBLY impressed with their physical superiority.

Wait, whut?  They did this because white men can't jump and black don't crack?  THAT'S what they got out of repeated viewings of Roots?  Fuck, Peele, you went in DEEP.

You hurt my feelings, man...

ANYWAY!  There are times, watching this film, that made it hard to remember I was watching a horror movie.  That's good.  I complain about being lulled into a false sense of security but it obviously works or filmmakers wouldn't keep doing it.  In this case, you almost expect this to go off-track into a Key and Peele sketch but it doesn't.  Those little detours are what make the actual horror pieces slap you right in the goddamn nuts and say "PAY ATTENTION!"

And pay attention you fucking should because this is, to date, the most culturally significant horror film, in regards to race relations, to come along since Night of the Living Dead.  Socially CONSCIOUS horror is a fantastic thing and this one gets the job DONE.

Go.  Watch.  Now.

Saturday, May 20, 2017

The Road To My 15 Minutes... maybe...

SO!  I've done some stuff, as you know (*ahembuyTROPEFESTahem*) and, in the process I've been getting around and, y'know, TALKING about TROPEFEST as if it were an earth-shattering revelation.

And, people actually wanted to hear about it!  Check out the first two, of, I hope, many interviews about myself, my writing and the book itself!

Available on Amazon!

First up, Annie's Book Stop of Worcester, MA!

And second, fellow author, Nora Jones!

I had a LOAD of fun with these and I'm hoping you enjoy them, too.  If you know anyone who wants to ask me stuff, send 'em on over.

Wednesday, May 10, 2017

Night of Something... I Don't Know What, But Something

I'm really going to have to stop watching things my roommate tells me I should watch because this shit is getting ridiculous, yo.  For today's little fun run, let's take a look at Night of Something Strange.

Words cannot adequately describe the revulsion I feel for this film.  Remember how actual, real, paid critics used to say that horror had no redeeming social value?  Yep.  None.  None at all to be found here.  Negative social value is the watchword of the day.  The director, here, needs to be beaten with an oar and pay US for the opportunity to do so.  Because his shit is weak.  Weak and off-putting.  I would rather put my dick in a blender than watch this again.

Because it all starts with this guy:

Jokerface McCorpsefucker
First off, asshole, if you're GONNA fuck a corpse, at LEAST read the toe tag if you're not the actual cause of death.  It says right there that she died of an STI.  But, noooooooo.  You and your creepy-ass face just neeeeded to get your dick wet.  Probably because no one else was gonna touch you.  I bet you belong to a Men's Rights group and believe that raising a daughter is the ultimate in cuckoldry because you spend 18 years spending money on a girl for other men to have.  Grooooooooss.

SO, yeah.  It all started there and, like all shit, rolled directly downhill, do not pass Go, do not collect $200 (or, rather, $3500 in today's money which I could totally use because I like nice things, go buy my book).  

Oh, and OF COURSE we have teenagers getting ready to graduate and going on a beach trip with no parental supervision.  Teenagers who can't stop at the side of the road to pee and, instead, have to use the gross toilet that Necro-Dick pissed blood and pus into AFTER eating the used tampon that was in there because we ALL needed to see that, right?

Awww.  Poor teenager in old-age makeup making sure she gets a last drag in before she cacks it.

AND THE FUN CONTINUES with everyone slowly turning because the one chick just HAD to go and she fell into the gross toilet, the fat kid finally getting laid (and getting his first STI AND his first anal experience in one go, bless him), the disgusting rimming jokes and other super-homophobic bullshit like the dude getting literally stuck in Chunky's asshole.

No, children, I cannot recommend this even as a horror-comedy (which is what it's supposed to be, I guess).  I would not even recommend watching this with a shitload of weed because it's just not that funny.  Maybe if it relied less on toilet humor, I wouldn't have a problem but, as I age, kicking and screaming, toilet humor does nothing but make me want to throw things at my very expensive monitor and that, kids, is a very bad fucking thing. 

Don't get me wrong.  I LOVE bad horror but it either has to be the kind of bad that doesn't think it's bad or the kind of bad that knows it's bad but uses the awful to it's advantage.  This movie is neither.  I mean, seriously.  If you're going to give me dick jokes, at least give me some dick and NOT the hideous fucking puppet you so graciously provided.

Don't watch it.  Just... don't.

Sunday, May 7, 2017

Crime Doesn't Pay

I'd heard good things about today's piece.  The House on Willow Street is supposed to be this new, edgy, South African horror flick that's sweeping the nation via OnDemand and IFC Midnight.  I mean, LOOK at this poster art.  It's delightfully creepy, right?

So I watched it.  I got my snacks and my drink and I settled into some demonic shenanigans.

Nope.  Nope.  Nope.

So, here's the thing.  These 4 career criminals (refugees from the foster care system from the sounds of things), who all seem to be related spend WEEKS coming up with a plan to abduct and ransom a teenage girl which, for all intents and purposes, goes off without a hitch.

There's a bell.  WHY is there a bell?  Is she part cat?
Of course, this being HorrorMovieTown, this is not quite as simple as they would like it to fucking be.  (Because it never is.  It's better to learn this lesson, now, kids.  Don't take the easy way out.  EARN your shit.  If you work hard for it you don't have anyone else to blame when things go tits up but you don't have anyone to thank but yourself for the cool shit, either.  Just a tip from your old Uncle Bob.) ANYWAY, their target is all legit possessed by a demon who can project your deepest fears and has a SUPER need to physically manifest.  I'm guessing because it's dying for a Pinkberry but I could be wrong.

So, these four douchebags (yes, including you, sole female member of the team) spend the rest of the movie getting chased by people they thought were dead, getting infected with "Tha Evuls" via spiky penis tongues and generally making use of the hastily rented abandoned warehouse .

And making me continually give you the thousand-yard Cheech-stare because I thoroughly blame drugs for this movie.
Oh, come one, now!  Really?  Truly, kids?  You can't do better than this?  I thought IFC Midnight was supposed to have GOOD taste and they distribute this pile of steaming, corn-filled shit?


First of all, this has already been done and been done WELL.  Take a gander at Tales from Halloween (because it's awesome) and check out the segment called "The Ransom of Rusty Rex" and you'll get a much slimmer, much more intense, and actually FUNNY version of this movie.  This movie makes me wish I made better choices in life, for real.  It was a bland, boring mumble-fest.

Save yourself the two hours and go walk in nature with children or something.  At least then you've done something worthwhile.

Sunday, April 30, 2017


You all may have noticed that there are some things missing from the site as of late.

Specifically, the Tropefest posts.

Well, there's a reason for that.

Those posts have been compiled and published in my very first book!

Tropefest!: Attack of the Killer Cliches is now available on Amazon!

This has been such a labor of love.  I hope you all enjoy it!  More Tropefest posts are coming.  I promise!

Tuesday, April 25, 2017

Don't Think It, Don't Say It, Don't Watch It

Is it just me or is horror just going straight to shit these days?  Because I just (and I cannot tell you why) watched The Bye-Bye Man and thought to myself, "Y'know what, Bob?  You deserve everything that's coming to you.  You brought this on yourself."

What kind of drugs were Stacy Title, Jonathon Penner and Robert Damon Schneck on when they decided this was going to be a good idea?  What have I told you about drugs, kids?  DON'T DO DRUGS!  If you do drugs, you end up with assholes like Scott Baio being insensitive dick-faces all over the landscape when you kick it.

And former A-listers clogging your drains and making sure you don't talk about Mommy Dearest.
So, yeah.  The movie starts with Leigh Wannell on a shooting spree because that's always a good start.  Blah, blah, blah, cut to present day when three college students rent out a full-sized fucking mansion because college students can afford the rent on this place really and for truly.  It's furnished, which is great because with the rent on this place there's no way they were going to be able to afford furniture.  They still won't be able to eat.  I suppose that's OK because they'll just fit right in with Hollywood's unhealthy standards of beauty.

So, yeah.  They find a nightstand with writing all over the drawer.  The writing says "Don't Think It, Don't Say It" again and again along with one large note "The Bye-Bye Man".

This bitch...
Now, are you gonna sit there with your bare fucking face and tell me that you didn't stop to think "Hmmm... maybe I shouldn't, oh, I don't know, WRITE THE GODDAMN NAME OF THE THING I SHOULDN'T BE THINKING ABOUT ALL OVER THE FUCKING LANDSCAPE?"  (It's amazing what you can spread all over the landscape, really.  Writing.  Insensitive assholery.  Shit.  Truly fascinating.)

Now, what has daddy told you about the stupid people, kids?  That's right.  They're stupid.  And without them we wouldn't have a movie.

That's where you should be smacked repeatedly.
So, yeah, they start thinkin' it and sayin' it and, of course, all sorts of forgettable dumbness occurs.  Like the lady in the records department, with whom the lead has a full-on conversation about TBBM as if it were all "Ho-hum, it's Tuesday", silently killing her entire family off-camera and then coming for the lead.  I wish she'd been successful.

Oh, and the psychic friend that murders her roommate and then decides she wants to take a walk on the train tracks.  That was fun.  But, at least they used her to bring us some Carrie-Anne Moss.  She and her super-frowny-face just waltzed through this movie like "gimme my damn paycheck and fire my manager".

You and I had a deal.  I would be a second-string character in your movie and it wouldn't suck.  You OWE me.
For real, kids, just don't waste your time.  I fully expect this to be on the next season of Mystery Science Theater 3000.  It's THAT bad.  I actually feel horrible for Doug Jones because he had to sit through hours of makeup and cope with a CGI dog for this piece of shit.  I literally had to watch this in 3 sittings because I could NOT sit still for the boring, lackluster, what-the-fuckness that is The Bye-Bye Man.

Skip this bitch with a song in your goddamn heart unless you want to make sure that Faye Dunaway has a few years worth of Botox money.  Poor thing.

Wednesday, April 19, 2017

Sneak Peak: You MONSTER

The following is a sneak peak at the first chapter of TROPEFEST II: Return of the Killer Cliches. The format of this article will likely not be the same as in the book because I can't afford the rights to the pictures.   Enjoy, bitches.


From the beginning of storytelling time (or at least back as far as Edgar Allen Poe), there has always been that one villain that is so utterly unhinged, so deranged, so apathetically mean, that their actions, regardless of the payoff at the end, are cruelly random and absolutely unreasonable.

These characters, as TV Tropes so eloquently phrases it, are doing this “for the evulz”.

Ya don't fuckin' say...

This portmanteau of “evil” and the internet slang “for the lulz” basically means “I don't need a reason to do what I'm doing, I'm evil. Suck my dick. And this stick of dynamite.” Kinda like the Trump presidency. Fuck you, Trump.

We have to bear in mind that this doesn't have anything to do with a similar trope in which the character just does something because it amused them (see the home invaders in The Strangers). In this case, the character is in full fucking possession of their morality and they deliberately choose to perform acts of evil based on that trait alone. One more time for the folks in the back, the Trump presidency, ladies and gentlemen.

And whoever made this piece of trash.

Whether or not the character gets any actual enjoyment out of their actions is also questionable. They don't NEED to enjoy dangling your scrawny ass over a shark-filled aquarium with a laser pointed at the rope holding you there while waiting for whichever tights-clad paragon of fucking virtue (nerd) to show up and rescue you, but it's sometimes nice, I suppose. No, they do it to inflict their own suck-ass life on you to share the pain. They do NOT give a shit if their actions hurt them, too.

There is also a sub-trope of this where the villain is an actual personification of evil. That's where we're looking at characters like the Loc-Nar (not a person but sentient, it counts) from Heavy Metal, Evil (yes, that's really the name of the character, thank you David Warner and Terry Gilliam) from Time Bandits and, in a kind of lame-ass attempt to explain how he comes back every few years to torment Jamie Lee Curtis, Michael Myers from Halloween.

Nui Harime from Kill la Kill, ladies and gentlemen.  Shoot on site.

Now, as I said earlier, this trope does go back to at least Edgar Allen Poe. The Black Cat gives us a protagonist who hurts people and animals out of the “spirit of perverseness”. This didn't just extend to the people and animals he harmed, it also encompassed himself. He just didn't care and was driven to do things that he KNEW were wrong and did them anyway, seemingly out of pure spite. He hanged the titular kitty because “I knew that it had loved me, and because I felt it had given me no reason of offense; hung it because I knew that in so doing I was committing a sin “

But we also have characters like EVERYBODY'S favorite Batman rogue, The Joker. Not only does he do things specifically because they're funny but he tries to wax all philosophical about it and shit. In The Killing Joke (now an animated feature), he (SPOILERS, BITCHES!) shoots Barbara Gordon (AKA Batgirl), paralyzes her, and kidnaps Commissioner Gordon, strips him naked (Well, hello, Daddy...), and tortures him with photographs taken of Barbara's broken, nude, helpless body. It's assumed that J-man raped her but that's not canon. Why did he do this? Because it's fun AND because he wants to prove that all it takes is one bad day to utterly ruin your life and make you take the short bus to cuckoo-town.

And in video games, we have the myriad of games wherein you, the player, get to decide if you're going to fight on the side of the angels or wreak havoc because you can. Infamous is pretty much the forerunner, here.

In horror specifically, we do have the aforementioned Michael Myers (although he doesn't seem to enjoy it, he DOES take the time to artfully display his victims like some kind of demented Macy's window dresser) but we also have such interesting characters as The Captain in Byzantium (who seems to just like raping little girls and sending them off into slavery), The Gremlin in Twilight Zone: The Movie (and the television episode Nightmare at 20,000 Feet) who just wants to destroy the plane because it's all kinds of fucking funsies, and the Indomitus Rex from Jurassic World who, for all intents and purposes, is a giant, dinosaur sociopath. It hunts for sport, unlike the other big bads in the previous installments.


This trope is SUPER fun but it can also go down some idiotic fucking roads. If you play it too far one way all you have is a cackling, petty, dumb-ass super-villain that's too stupid to live (and won't... because they're stupid). If you don't play it up enough, all you get is “Doomsday Guy”. Laziness is usually the cause, here, and it tends to happen in sequels because, as mentioned in the my first book, screenwriters do not understand the care and feeding of cash cows. I find that smacking them with a newspaper generally gets them to stop shitting all over the paper.