The Ancients

Sorry, kids.  No post today.

I'm visiting with the mother-in-law.  No computer with which to make the pretty words.

I Kind of Hate You, Ti West.

Ti West is currently seen as a wunderkind of horror and frankly, I don't see it. 

What the fuck is it about literal grindhouse throwbacks that drive people nuts?  I mean, Kill Bill was awesome but, come on.  There was at least PART of Kill Bill that wasn't taking itself seriously.  Which brings us to today's review of The House of the Devil.

The movie starts with Samantha, a college student in need of some cash, who answers an ad for a babysitting job.  She gets a runaround for a bit from the mysterious dude who's hiring her but eventually they nail down that the job is not for a child but for Mr. Ullman's (that's the mysterious old dude) mother.  It pays $400 in 1980s money.  Because the movie takes place in the 80s.  With feathered hair and girls in baseball jerseys and yellow title fonts and Walkmans.

Nothing comes between her and her Calvins.

Samantha's friend Megan is wigged by the whole thing and leaves because old dude creeped her out.  She stops to get a cigarette lit and is promptly shot in the face by the dude that popped out of fucking nowhere and gave her a light.  And that is a waste of a damn good 1980s vintage cigarette.

Don't get used to her.

So, in standard Scooby-fucking-Doo fashion, Samantha goes snooping around the damn house and finds what looks like evidence that Ullman killed the previous owner and stole his car.  She calls 911 on an actual corded phone that is actually attached to the wall but calms down when the pizza dude arrives.  Because pizza.

Uh-oh, though.  Pizza's been drugged.  This was a set-up!  A conspiracy of the highest order.  Turns out Samantha was meant to be a lunar eclipse human sacrifice.  Well, damn.  And she just got the new apartment and everything.  Kiss grad school goodbye.

They seemed like such a nice couple...

So, yeah, obviously she wakes up in the middle of the thing and has to slaughter her way out.  Ullman chases her out of the house and tries to reason with her saying she's been chosen.  Because that's supposed to make her feel better.  And, seriously?  She was chosen by this guy.

Fugly.

Way to make a girl feel special, assholes.

So, yeah.  I watched this feeling like I was being raped in the eyes by a hipster.  But not a cute hipster, should such a thing exist.  The kind that actually thinks skinny jeans and thick-framed glasses look good on them.  The kind of asshole who wears a Keffiyeh scarf but doesn't know what it means.  The kind of dickwad that hates everything you like, snags all of the stuff that fits you off the rack at the thrift store, drinks PBR because they're poor and it's cool, and declares that giving up red meat and whining about it justifies their pseudo-counter-culture snobbery.

One more time, I dig an 80s horror flick as much as anyone else but I think Mr. West tried too hard and took himself WAY too seriously.  Vintage is one thing but damn.  The kids that would watch this have no idea what a rotary phone is. 

As for plot, it's too fucking simplistic.  A five-year-old could come up with something more interesting.  Of course, Samantha would be rescued by Dora the Explorer riding a unicorn/dragon hybrid and they would ride off over a rainbow to the land of gummie bears or something but, hey.  Whattayagonnado?

Hands off, beyotch.

I will say that the acting isn't bad and it's good to see that Mary Woronov (Eating Raoul) is alive and kicking but, all-in-all, I really did hate this movie.

Stop giving Ti West money, kids.  He's just spending it on PBR.  Seriously, look what he blew $5000 on for The ABCs of Death.

SURPRISE!!

As an extension of the Cat Scare, the source of death is often introduced to us mid-sen - AAAAAH!  GOD DAMMIT THAT HURTS!  Spurt, spurt, gurgle, sputter, die.

Did NOT see that coming.

Yep, if you're in a horror movie or anything even remotely horror adjacent and people are expected to die, SOMEONE is going to get a sudden knife through the guts by way of the killer and for some unholy reason nobody ever sees this coming.  The killer can be 19 feet tall and tromp around like an hippo in tap shoes but he's GONNA make a successful Sneak check right in front of your damn eyes and reveal himself behind your suddenly dead buddy.

Cue screaming and running and flailing about.

No, really, it's all "Ho-hum.  We're just a bunch of teenagers/space jockeys/undersea lab workers just minding our own business and havin' a grand old time doing stupid shOH, FUCK!!  That dude was just impaled!!"  

Screw you, Dewey!

Now, as I said, this is often used to introduce an antagonist but it has other uses as well.  If it's not used to reveal the Big Bad, it's used to confront him.  It's used to get rid of red shirts or incredibly annoying cast members.  It's ALSO used by the protagonists AGAINST the Big Bad from time to time.  The BB being all "Ooooh, I'ma hack you to bits and then I'm gonOW!  DAMMIT!!  It must be the last 15 minutes of the movie, FUCK!"

Or it's just used to dispose of Samuel L. Jackson.  He gets this a lot.

There's a lot of different ways this can be used.  And the premise behind it is simple.  It's to garner an atmosphere that no one is safe.  It's a cheap ploy, really, but it's effective because it's generally used when the characters think they're not in any danger.  Not all the time, but a good bit.  Directors tend to lull the audience into a false sense of security, too, then BAM!  Bus to the face.

You thought I was kidding.

Surprise Death Syndrome isn't limited to movies, either.  Video games use this a LOT.  The prime example, in my mind, being Assassin's Creed (or, really, any game with a "sneak" component) where YOU provide this for your victims.  Dead Space gives us the Necromorphs who have a tendency to sneak the fuck up on people, too.  Which reminds me, I should probably finish DS2 before moving forward in the series.

Anyway, its final use is to end a film, thus setting it up for a fuckin' sequel.  I'm not always OK with this.

In any case, it's my personal recommendation that you never get comfortable in a horror movie.  Ever.

You can breathe when the credits stop and sometimes not even then.

So long, Ray.

Today, the fantasy, science fiction and horror film world lost a legend.

Ray Harryhausen, creature designer extraordinaire, died today at the age of 92.

As a kid I LIVED for his movies.  I remember watching Clash of the Titans on TV in my grandparents' dining room, keeping out of the adults' hair on a Saturday night.  Nana made us popcorn and I was enthralled.  It, just like Jason and the Argonauts and The Golden Voyage of Sinbad, EXPLODED in my brain.  I thought, "This is my favorite stories come to life!" just as I always did when his movies were on.  The grey sisters and Pegasus and Bubo and Kalibos and Medusa and "RELEASE THE KRAKEN!" 

I remember watching The 7th Voyage with my mom on a Sunday afternoon in Summer.  I remember getting upset when Golden Voyage was on at a friend of my parents that we were visiting and we had to leave in the middle of it.

His movies were heaven to me and my whole life I wanted to meet the man that brought me my stories.  I never did but that's OK.  I never expected I'd be able to. 

I know he hasn't made anything for a long time but he didn't have to.  His special effects, even though they used handfuls of clay and wire and old-time stop-motion, are timeless and unforgettable. Ray Harryhausen's work has been a blueprint for creature effects and the cinema world owes him a great debt.

Goodbye, Ray.  The world will miss you.

Thank you.

Ice Fishing Confuses Me

No, really.  Who the hell wants to sit on a frozen lake all day around a hole (that has drastically affected the stability of said ice) waiting for fish to take bait they wouldn't even take in the summer?  That's assuming that fish are still mobile under all that ice.  I'm pretty sure ice fishing is just an excuse for people to sit around not talking to one another (because it'll scare the fish).  Either that or it's a means of play-testing outdoor gear. 

But, yeah.  That's what 2010's Hypothermia is all about.  Ice fishing.  And family togetherness.  And ice fishing.

Ray Pelletier and his family go ice fishing once or twice a year at the same lake.  They have a cabin and everything.  Their son, David, and his girlfriend, Gina, are visiting after graduation and have yet to drop the bomb on Mom and Dad that they're joining the Peace Corps.  Dad's out on the ice for some reason when he sees a dead something or other on the other side of the lake.  He shrugs it off and takes one step and falls through the ice.

Because walking on ice is STUPID.

A leisurely stroll, huh?

David goes looking for Ray after dinner and helps him out of the icy water and they manage to get him home without any additional damage.  Gosh, we're glad those kids are doctors, now.

So, they get on the ice for a rousing day of sitting on their asses with fishing lines and coffee when a gigantic douchebag and his son arrive with their humongous truck and their snowmobiles and their state-of-the-art ice fishing trailer.  They're extra-loud and annoying and this causes tension.  Somewhere along the line, they question why they haven't caught anything, yet.  They consider moving across the lake when something HUGE snags their lines.  Annoying dude, who later introduces himself as Stevie Cote (his son is Stevie Jr.), tries to help but the lines snap because he's a dumbass.

He is DETERMINED to catch this huge thing and has his son carve out a bigger hole.  He invites the Pelletiers over to hang out and have a few beers and while they're doing so, Jr. gets his arm sliced open by the huge thing in the lake.  It gets all infected and gross and while they consider taking him to the hospital, he manages to get himself eaten.  Stevie Sr. goes all Papa Bear and gets all determined to kill the creepy lake monster. 

Because firearms are ALWAYS useful against lake monsters.

So, yeah.  It turns out that this thing is both bipedal and amphibious.  Because what use would a damn lake monster be if it couldn't get out of the water?

I need to slap a makeup artist, stat.

And the minute I saw the monster, I lost all fucking interest.

Sorry.  This one is a total barker.  The premise is kind of interesting but if you're gonna hand me an ice-fishing horror movie, I better be seeing some insane monster makeup.  You did not provide this to me, James Felix McKenney.  You cheated me as a horror fan and this makeup is un-fucking-forgiveable. You need to be dragged into the street and shot.

I would say that Michael Rooker was the saving grace of this film but he really wasn't. You're better than this, Mr. Rooker.  So much better.

 

The dialogue was cheesy, the acting was underwhelming, the plot was so-so, the make-up was terrible (thank you, Alaska Thunderfuck) and I actually had to shut it off, not caring whether these people lived or died.

Underachievement-on-a-stick.  Skip it.

So Much for Infant Immortality

Brace yourself, kids.  This is a rough one.  And not in the good way.  More in a mediocre "kids are gonna get it" way.

2008, for some damn reason, gave us two movies called "Baby Blues".  This is the more offensive of the two, seeing as how this is a horror movie, not a sappy romance.

The premise is simple.  Take one woman, add a trucker husband, four children (one an infant), a tiny farm in the middle of the Georgia boonies and a whole heap of post-partum depression complete with psychotic break.  Blend well, pour onto celluloid.

The movie starts with a relatively accurate portrayal of mental illness which is kind of designed to throw us off guard.  Mom has just had a baby and post-partum depression is a part of that.  We get that.  We understand.  It's a real thing and there's no shame in it.

Mommy needs a prozac.

Little things start piling up.  Kids get annoying, we get that, too.  Hubby's a trucker so he's not home a lot.  It's a pain in the ass.  Gotcha.  You're seeing blood spots show up on the laundry.  Ummmmm...

Yeah, so the eldest, Jimmy, is concerned about his baseball game and his mom and brings this up to his father who, in typical fashion, blows it off.  "Moms just get like that."  Seriously?  Also, do truckers still use CBs?  Is that still a thing?

Anyway, Dad leaves for work and Mom sets off on her very quick trip to Binkers-Town.  Like, a hop, skip and a jump.  Kids bicker at dinner and mom starts throwing dishes around and takes the baby for a bath.  She somehow forgot the baby's snorkel because after Jimmy cleans up, he goes to check on Mom and finds the baby dead.  Mom is crying in the bathroom.  Little sister Cathy comes in to report a spilled juice box and Mom decides to do the laundry with the little girl still in it.  Jimmy saves her by breaking Grandma's mirror over her head.

Jimmy sends little brother Sammy to get help but Mom stops him with the power words "Because I said so" and then stabs him repeatedly with Grandma's mirror for disobeying her. 

You know, a session on the naughty stool might be more effective, here.

Jimmy and Cathy run for their lives through a cornfield and Mom chases them down with a combine.  Jimmy shoots out the glass with a slingshot and takes his sister to the barn where mom stabs a pig AND Cathy with a pitchfork.  Jimmy, in true horror movie fashion, steps on a nail and hides out in the henhouse.  Mom finds him but gets distracted by the dog so that Jimmy can make it to the house and call for help on the CB.    Mom, of course, kills the farmhand that comes to save her from the dog and gets to the house where Jimmy, for a little while traps her in the bathroom.  And the struggle continues.

I TOLD you to EAT YOUR PEAS!

OK, so, I know that this is based on the Andrea Yates situation but I'm not entirely sure that there needed to be the "Based on Actual Events" disclaimer at the beginning.  Andrea Yates just used a tub.  She was one of those weird "Duggar"-like religious people that use their uterus like a clown car and feel that they should have as many children as possible in order to force an Evangelical majority but she didn't go all "The Shining" on her kids.  Well, she might have but there was no stabbing involved. 

This is not a bad movie by any stretch of the imagination but it's not great, either.  It's not badly acted, for the most part, and the directors, Lars Jacobson and Amardeep Kaleeka, do a good job in making the mundane fearsome but Jacobson needs to be slapped around a little for Mom's dialogue.  No one talks like that, Jacobson.  No one.  It's seriously like he wanted her to be the Mominator. 

In all actuality, though, this IS a tough watch because no one wants to watch kids being killed, even if the deaths are off-screen, let alone by their own mother.  And it IS made all that much more disturbing by the fact that post-partum depression is a real thing and it DOES make bad things happen.  Not THIS bad but bad enough.

This film is NOT recommended for pregnant women but it'll kill a couple of bored hours for anyone else.