sayonara

Well, kids, I'm afraid I have to sign off for a time as the Final Girl Super Secret Clubhouse Headquarters moves approximately 46790977 miles to the left. I'll be back up and running as soon as I can- but I'm not expecting to be out, across, and in for about 10 days at least. But stranger things have happened, right? Keep your fingers crossed I don't get lost and disoriented and uh oh! Moving-truck-meets-Grand-Canyon-a-la-Thelma-and-Louise.

I know...I know. We'll all have to make it through this difficult time together- but when I'm back, I'll be back and better than ever, I swear! In the meantime, visit some other horror blogs. Visit some regular blogs. Go outside and play! Just...*sniff*...don't forget about me.

And enjoy this special goodbye video I made when I should have been, like, packing or something.



Be good! See you soon!

exchanging glances

Steven, the ultra-cool proprietor of The Horror Blog, pointed me in the direction of the poster for the upcoming horror/thriller/suspense film The Strangers and...well, see for yourself.

Ooh la la! It's bitchin'- I love it. The faux-distress creases are a bit silly, but the image itself is killer. It's very creepy and very old school, from the font right down to the soft focus of the picture. It's so Alice Sweet Alice. Ah, it makes my crusty old heart smile.

The film itself, due out later this year, stars Liv Tyler and Scott Speedman as a couple

...in a remote suburban house who are targeted by three dangerous masked strangers. The resulting clashes force the couple to go well beyond what they thought themselves capable of in order to survive.

I read that and thought "OK, so after their home is invaded, Liv Tyler will get raped or held hostage and Scott Speedman will flip out and have to rescue her by killing everyone, or maybe Scott Speedman will get killed and Liv Tyler will have to kill everyone in order to survive. Omigawd, the nice suburban couple will be reduced to savagery to make it through this ordeal...who are the monsters here? We are them and they are us! Scott Speedman and Liv Tyler will become...THE STRANGERS."

I can't wait to see how accurate my predictions are. If I nail this one, I may demand that you all start calling me Micki Dahne, Jr. And I will demand offerings of old horror movies on VHS and beer. Heed my words!

season's bleedings

Wow, that post title is really bad, huh? Hey, I'm overtired and they can't all be gems.

This year, Halloween falls on Christmas!



Incorporating sleigh bells into the Halloween theme makes it all worthwhile.

What A Feeling!

Say, do you remember when not so long ago I posted about the craptacular Knight Chills and my propensity to gobble up multi-shitty-packs? Well, it just so happens that I'm squeezing another review out of the teat that is that very same "Night Chills" 10-pack from Brentwood. Behold, dear readers, for I give you:

Oh. My. GAWD. Slash Dance (1989) is one of the absolute worst movies I've ever seen...yet it's so fucking hilarious that my new Life's Goal is to make every single person I know watch it. Thank you, Brentwood!

As the film begins, the poor man's Linnea Quigley shows up in an old theatre for a dance audition. It seems that she's the only one there, but she's largely unperturbed and decides to warm up on the stage. The poor man's Linnea Quigley puts on her walkman and starts stretching and bouncing around as a shadowy figure in a black cape approaches; he's got a black pillowcase over his head- complete with eyeholes cut out and he's holding a giant saw...this is very, very scary. By "very, very scary", of course, I mean I'm laughing already. But wait, there's more! It's time for the first kill: the caped figure simply stands off to the side and the poor man's Linnea Quigley pirouettes across the stage and smacks directly into the saw, killing herself. It. Is. AWESOME.

Now then, meet Tori Raines (Cindy Maranne), a spunky LAPD detective who takes no guff. Posing as an interested buyer, Tori busts two steroid dealers in an alleyway...and when I say "busts", I mean BUSTS with a suplex and a gut punch. That's amazing enough in and of itself, but when I tell you that Cindy Maranne is also known as "Americana" and one of the steroid dealers is also known as "Matilda the Hun"- both late of Jackie Stallone's '80s women's wrestling/comedy series G.L.O.W., you might understand why I was already down on one knee, asking Slash Dance to be mine forever.

Note to self: Matilda the Hun...Big Bad Mama...Jailbait...The Soul Patrol...Colonel Ninotchka...Hollywood and Vine...Mount Fiji...man, G.L.O.W. was the shit. Indeed, they come from a world where there is no pity!

Back at headquarters, Tori gets chewed out by her jerk of a captain; it seems Tori has a real hard time playing by the rules- not to mention a real hard time avoiding a direct look into the camera on occasion.


I for one do not care that she breaks the fourth wall all the time because she is Americana and Americana can do whatever she wants and if you disagree then the terrorists have won and you are probably a freedom hater. And why is she all gussied up like that, you ask? Oh, no reason- except that she's glamorous.

As is evidenced by The Great Steroid Caper, Officer Tori has a real knack for undercover work and no case is too small to require an undercover operation. Some scummo has been targeting bag ladies and stealing all their...umm...all their what? I don't know, exactly, but bag ladies have been targeted nonetheless (psst- bad guys! pick people to mug who might actually have something to take). Tori poses as a homeless woman and sure enough, here come the bad guys taking the bait. Yeah, they rip her shirt open- but before you can say "hiiiii-YAH!" she takes down the two muggers with some chops and kicks.

It's true, friends, this movie just keeps getting better and better.

Meanwhile, the poor man's Tanya Tucker has wandered into that ol' empty theatre for her "audition". Mercifully, the mysterious caped figure strangles her- with her own lariat, even!- during her horrid rendition of "You Are My Sunshine". Ever the professional, with her dying breath the poor man's Tanya Tucker utters "I can dance tooooooooo...". Boy, Hollywood sure does chew 'em up and spit 'em out, don't it? Truly, it's the city of broken dreams.

*tear*

We the audience get a glimpse into Tori's inner torment thanks to the cinematic device known as a "flashback". We learn that long ago, Tori's sister overdosed and her death drove Tori's mother to suicide. Tori swore to kill the drug dealer who got her sister hooked- then we see another flashback of Tori shooting a gun into blackness, so...I guess she accomplished that goal. At this point, I'm thinking to myself: with a slightly larger budget, Slash Dance could SO be a Cynthia Rothrock movie. I'll keep my fingers crossed for a sequel.

News of the murders at the theatre finally hits police headquarters, which can only mean one thing: it's undercoverin' time! First, however, there's a sequence in which Tori does some amazing detective work by window shopping and taking notes during a music montage. I think the montage is supposed to reveal Hollywood's seedy underbelly, and gosh, is it seedy! Look- there are places in Los Angeles that sell pants and...gasp...shirts! Fantasy shirts! Hold me, mother.


Eventually Tori makes her way to the theatre and begins her stint as a dancer- it's undercover work, but she uses her real name and she has her badge and service pistol right there in her gym bag. Oh well...anyway, the theatre is now bustling with activity and people- brothers Oliver (William Kerr) and is he retarded or just weird? Amos (Joel Buzz Von Ornsteiner) have taken over the failing theatre after their father's suicide. Determined to save the building and the business, they're putting on a lavish musical and they've hired a Famous Director (James Carroll Jordan) to helm the production. Famous Director got his start at this humble theatre many years ago, and he's simply thrilled to help out.

Note to you: after roles in such films as Slash Dance and Robot Holocaust failed to make him an A-list star, Joel Buzz Von Ornsteiner returned to school, earned 37529 degrees, and became "Dr. Buzz, Forensic Psychologist". Catch him on Court TV as he weighs in with his expert opinion on topics like The Death of Anna Nicole Smith!

For the next 45 minutes or so, Slash Dance is nothing but dance rehearsal after dance rehearsal after fucking dance rehearsal- I swear, should I live to be 500, I won't hear people count to eight as often as I did in the middle chunk of Slash Dance. Normally I'd find this sort of awful pacing irritating, except that the dancing was so fucking horrible I couldn't stop laughing. I wouldn't even call it "dancing" so much as I'd call it...I don't know, "aerobics for special people" or something. It was really, really bad. NO, YOU DON'T UNDERSTAND HOW BAD IT WAS. Someone would say "5 6 7 8 and 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 and snap snap kick kick wave kick and strut!" and the girls would do the most retarded routine ever- sometimes accompanied by cheesy '80s Casio-flavored music, sometimes not, but always crammed onto the tiniest stage you could imagine.



It is completely effing hilarious. I kept wondering what kind of "production" they were possibly hoping to put on (sometimes the Famous Director would say things like "The singers are going to enter from the left!", but sadly we never get to see the singers), and somehow I was actually more confused about this once the troupe put on their costumes. I mean...what the hell is going on here?

Just when you start to think "OK, I see the dancing...now where the fuck is the slashing?", the mysterious caped figure returns! He replaces a rubber prop knife with a real knife and stupid ol' Amos stabs himself in the stomach.

In other news, Tori and the Famous Director have totally fallen in love by this point. They have sex in the dressing room- at least, that's what I inferred when the camera panned from Tori and the Famous Director making out over to a mannequin wearing a pearl necklace. The whole thing is wrong on no less than six levels, and you know, I really thought Officer Tori was more professional than that. Things get worse in the next scene when the mysterious caped figure steals Tori's gun out of her gym bag; I can only shake my head sadly over Tori's incompetence.

There's a big showdown between Tori, Oliver, and the mysterious caped figure who reveals himself to be...the Famous Director! Omigod, I never saw it coming. The Famous Director blathers on something about Oliver and Amos's father molesting him when he was young and so he killed the old pervert and now he's getting even more revenge and then the Famous Director shoots Oliver.

Tori quickly ducks behind a row of seats and pulls a sequined high heel out of her gym bag.

Can you feel what's coming?

In glorious, beautiful slow-motion, Tori chucks the high heel at the Famous Director- she chucks it so hard, in fact, that it pierces the Famous Director's forehead.


Of course, it's a terrible effect: Tori throws the shoe in slo-mo, cut to Famous Director holding the shoe up to his forehead. Ahhhhhhhhh, that's good stuff.

That's not enough to finish off the Famous Director, however, and so there's a thrilling chase scene through the back stage area leading to a denoument that had me laughing hysterically. No one messes with Officer Tori Raines! God bless Americana! OK, she doesn't say that, but I so wish she did.

I'm not going to say I didn't love Slash Dance, because I did. In fact, I wish it had 50 sequels starring the rest of the G.L.O.W. girls and Cynthia Rothrock. And maybe Ted Shackelford. I will say, however, that it's an absolutely horrendously bad film: it fails as a slasher flick, it fails as a crime thriller, and it fails as a horror-comedy- yes, there's plenty of attempted intentional humor in Slash Dance. The intentional humor is so not funny that it totally travels full-circle and becomes funny again, which is very rare and very...I don't know, meta or something. You laugh in all the right spots because it's not funny- that's deep, man. Look, if you want a decent slasher set in the world of theatre, try Stage Fright or Curtains. But if you just want some fabulously bad direct-to-VHS '80s-cheesy-style fun, I highly recommend Slash Dance, some friends, and a six-pack. Leotards are optional.

Just Say Yes

Oh, how I love discovering fantastic no-name, no-budget films. It's always a treat I can truly appreciate, for it's a rarity on par with Chupacabra sightings; the infrequency of these events bums me out, but it makes their occurrence that much more special, I suppose. And no, I'm not claiming I've ever seen a Chupacabra, but I'd much rather live in a world where it's a possibility than a world where it isn't. I mean...which is more fun? The truth is out there! Trust no one! Don't be such a Scully!

The fantastic no-name, no-budget film I discovered last night is Dan Mintz's 2001 paranoia-infused drug-ladened Cookers, a film that proves how much can be done with very little when capable hands are at work.

Hector (Brad Hunt) and Dorena (Cyia Batten) have just stolen a huge shitload of pseudoephedrine with the intent on making a mother lode of crystal meth; they vaguely dream of using the profits to fund a Caribbean-island style retirement from drugs. They hole up in an abandoned farmhouse procured by Hector's mulleted ol' juvie pal Merle (Patrick McGaw) and set about cooking up batches and shooting, snorting, and smoking as much meth as possible.

The more drugs they ingest and the longer they stay awake, the more paranoid they become. Hector puts padlocks on all the doors and blacks out all the windows; eventually Merle relates a local urban legend/ghost story that sets the gang completely over the edge. They begin to see shapes lurking around corners and hearing noises all over the house, and neither they nor the audience can discern hallucinations from reality. Are they alone in the house? Can they trust each other, even? Oops! Dorena lost a tooth! Isn't crystal meth awesome?

Cookers was made on a shoestring budget, but that's irrelevant if, as I said earlier, a filmmakers can use the budget to maximum effect by featuring a great location and hiring a capable cast- and director Mintz and crew really deliver with Cookers.

The abandoned farmhouse where a majority of the movie takes place sets the mood perfectly- there are corners everywhere, hidden doorways, and the structure is rotting and dark. Once Hector covers all the windows, the only available light comes from candles and lanterns, there are shadows upon shadows, and it's all a creepy affair.
I can't say enough good things about the cast- all of them were fantastic, in particular Brad Hunt as Hector. By all accounts his portrayal of a paranoid, potentially violent tweaker is indeed accurate- and again, I say, isn't meth awesome? We eventually get glimpses into Dorena's past that show how vulnerable people can get caught up in the lifestyle and become hardcore druggies, and again- we get a great performance by Cyia Batten. After I finished the movie, I wondered about the three actors- they were all good enough that I'd like to see them again- and I was blown away by the fact that Cyia Batten is a founding member of the fucking Pussycat Dolls. I don't know if it was the late hour, but when I read that tidbit on imdb, something about that trivia kind of turned my world upside down for just a minute. It's like finding an actor intriguing in a good film and then the actor turns out to be Baby Spice...not that her performance in Spice World was anything less than astonishing, mind you, but it just goes to show you something something.

Give Cookers a try- you might be as pleasantly surprised as I was; I really liked this film. But remember kids- hugs, not drugs!

nunzapoppin'

I didn't watch the 1975 lesbo-possesso-vampiro flick Alucarda with the intent of reviewing it. I know, I know...this might be hard for you to hear, but...sometimes I watch things and I don't tell you about it. I'm not trying to keep secrets or anything, honest. It's simply nice sometimes to watch movies without having to apply my keen critical insight, not to have to come up with jokes on the fly or think up nicknames for people in the movie or find a way to place a real turd of a flick within the cinematic cultural landscape. In other words, you know, to just watch a damn film. Wah wah, it's so hard having a movie blog.

I hope this news isn't too shocking or duplicitous-seeming. Remember, it's me, not you, and we'll always be friends, I swear.

Anyway, the cover art for Alucarda has intrigued me for quite some time and as I was taught to always judge a book by its cover (GAWD I hope no ugly people read Final Girl), I decided to finally give the movie a try. My expectations were...not exactly low, necessarily, but seeing as that the DVD release hails from Mondo Macabro, I certainly had an idea of what was in store for me: super fake blood, tits, and any manner of "-ploitation" from all around the world. Don't get me wrong- Mondo Macabro flicks are a lot of fun (if you haven't seen Dangerous Seductress or Lady Terminator yet, I suggest you do so ASAP for a craptacular good time), but not typically something I'd review here. But dammit, slap my knee and call me Debralee Scott- there's something to this so-called Alucarda...and so here we are, together on The Internet, me writing and you reading. Whooda thunkit?

Welcome to the convent: they've got fun and games an odd, cave-like structure set deep in the countryside- a place where orphaned girls can live and learn about God from nuns who dress like blood-stained mummies and flagellate themselves somewhat regularly. New arrival Justine (Susana Kamini) and lifer Alucarda (Tina Romero) strike up a friendship that quickly evolves to include copious amounts of frolicking and secret-keeping. That spells trouble!

After crossing paths with a gypsy (Claudio Brook) who hints at the aforementioned trouble, the girls frolic their way into a crypt. Alucarda is drawn to a coffin and opens it- little does she know that the dessicated corpse inside is actually her mother. Oh noes! Opening the coffin releases some evil spirits or something, and Alucarda flips out.

Somehow, it seems, the girls have just been inducted into Satan's Junior Cadets. What does this mean? It means that Justine and Alucarda totally hate God now and invoke the name of Satan to the horror of the entire convent. It means the girls scream a lot and can't stand the sight of a crucifix. It means the gypsy magically appears in their room one night and helps the girls perform their blood pact in service to Satan: Justine and Alucarda get naked, cut each other, drink each other's blood a bit, and make out. I know how that reads on paper, yet somehow this scene managed to be about as erotic as an average episode of Matlock. The girls are then led to the gypsy camp where everyone is naked and hairy and dancing around in a circle; the orgy proper begins and Beelzebub appears- well, I wasn't sure if it was actually supposed to be Beelzebub or if it was a gypsy in a ceremonial Beelzebub mask, but I suppose it makes no difference. The girls are now officially Satan's Little Helpers!

Meanwhile, back at the convent, Sister Angelica (Tina French), ever protective of Justine and Alucarda, feels that evil is afoot and so she begins to pray super ultra hard. She prays so super ultra hard, in fact, that she begins to sweat blood and leviatate, which was pretty fucking cool. That actually happened to me right before I took the SATs- man, I was nervous about getting into the college of my choice.

Later on, the girls' behavior gets so outrageous (more screaming, more Satan's name-invoking) that the priests and nuns begin ruminating on the possibility that the girls are possessed. When Justine takes dreadfully ill, Dr Oszek (Claudio Brook) is called in to treat her; when his leeches don't seem to take care of the problem, it becomes clear: the girls are, in fact, possessed. That means...it's exorcismin' time!

Justine and Alucarda are each tied to a cross while the nuns writhe around on the floor and scream. Justine is stripped nude (naturally) and...poked with a nail or something (again, naturally) until she's dead. Dr Oszek rushes in and berates everyone for this bizarre exercise in making no sense; before they can kill Alucarda as well, he takes her away to his house and to safety.

Little does he know, however, that the members of the convent were right- the girls were possessed! Whilst lying in shroud and awaiting burial, Justine's body disappears; the nun who was attending the body is found burned to death. She springs back to life, however, and must be decapitated- this is enough to prove to Dr Oszek that science is bunk and there's definitely something supernatural going on here.

Sister Angelica finds Justine in the crypt, lying in a coffin full of blood. Justine scratches and bites Angelica to death before being killed- for good this time!- by some refreshing spritzes of holy water.

Alucarda, meanwhile, has befriended Dr Oszek's blind daughter Daniela (Lili Garza). The two return to the convent where Alucarda, still pissed off over Justine's death, lays the smack down all Sissy Spacek in Carrie style, tearing down the building and setting people on fire.

You know, if I ever had to be (or decided to be) possessed, I'd much rather follow Alucarda's example than that of Regan in The Exorcist. I mean, really. What did Regan do? She got gross and laid in bed all the time, that's what she did. Alucarda keeps her good looks, and all she has to do to set a nun on fire is glare and yell "Beelzebub!". She's a proactive minion of Satan, and Regan sure seems awfully lazy in comparison.

As Alucarda rampages, some nuns carry in the dead body of Sister Angelica. Angelica suddenly opens her eyes, and Alucarda simply can't stand up to Angelica's Super Stare of Piety. I think George Michael said it best when he said

'Cause I gotta have faith...
Mmm, I gotta have faith
'Cause I gotta have faith, faith
Mmm 'cause I gotta have faith-a-faith-a-faith-a

Alucarda is an odd duck to be sure, but one worth checking out if only for the visuals alone. Director Juan Lopez Moctezuma has created a bizarre, surreal world full of striking imagery, particularly in regards to the setting. At times it's blatantly artificial, an approach which, when coupled with the cast's tendency to overact, gives the film an almost fairy tale-like quality.

Despite the trashy overtones and the irritating amount of screaming (seriously, there's more screaming here than there was when The Beatles played Wembley in '64), it seems as if there just might be a deeper meaning to Alucarda. Mexican filmmakers of the era, after all, were much like American filmmakers of the era; by and large they sought to provide a viewpoint and/or social commentary in their work. Is Alucarda, then, perhaps an indictment of the Catholic Church? It's entirely possible that it is, particularly if one views the "possession" in the film as an allegory for "free love" or even homosexuality. On the other hand, sometimes a cigar is just a cigar and a movie about vaguely lesbian Catholic girls who become possessed by Satan and turn into fire-starting pseudo-vampires is just a movie about vaguely lesbian Catholic girls who become possessed by Satan and turn into fire-starting pseudo-vampires.

I Heart: Wrong Turn

Much like my love for House on Haunted Hill, my love for the underrated Wrong Turn (2003) is deeply rooted in the circumstances of my personal life at the time of the film's release. I realize the film is not without flaws, but it was just what the doctor ordered a few years ago and it's had a place in my heart ever since.

See, I'd moved from the pricy east coast to the less pricy midwest in the hopes of launching a career as a freelance comic book artist. To support myself on my quest, I needed what one might call a "shitty day job". How hard can it be to find a shitty day job? Well, sometimes it can be very hard. I sent out resume after resume and application after application for weeks and weeks and never got a peep in reply. Feelings of dread rose while my bank account dwindled...I started to sell stuff on eBay in the hopes of turning a buck- including my French edition of Madonna's Sex which still bums me out to this day (That's right, people- I love Madonna and I don't care how uncool that makes me. As far as I'm concerned, she's the speedboat and everyone else is just the Go-Gos on waterskis, you dig?). I was too concerned about finances to have any fun, or even work on my art without feeling guilty. Until I had some income, I couldn't do anything.

Then along came Wrong Turn. It hit theatres moments before the huge horror renaissance we're experiencing now, when a horror film on the big screen was still a bit of a novelty, and oh, how I yearned to see it! But if I couldn't watch a DVD I already owned without feeling terrible because I should be looking for a job (yes, I felt that way day and night), then how could I possibly justify- gasp- paying to see a movie in the theatre? I was lamenting my lamentations to my mom on the phone when she simply said "Ten dollars isn't going to make any difference. Go see the movie!" With said blessing I promptly marched to the local AMC, saw Wrong Turn, and fell in love.

It's got a plot that's as old as the hills- or since the hills got eyes, anyway: a group of people get lost in the middle of nowhere and fall prey to a family of inbred cannibals (the awesomely named Three-Finger, Saw-Tooth, and One-Eye; they're like the inbred cannibal version of TLC).

Sure, it's formulaic, but writer Alan McElroy and director Rob Schmidt are smart: they stick to the fucking formula. Countless horror films have been bogged down and ultimately ruined when a simple, straightforward idea just isn't good enough for the filmmakers. The example I always point to is Jeepers Creepers: a scary man driving a scary truck living in an abandoned church and stuffing bodies down a well is a great, simple premise that has potential. When the man turns out to be a weird bat creature- a weird bat creature who only feeds once every 50 years! For...um...3 days every 50 years! And...he, like, wears a fedora! And...umm...he only eats certain body parts from certain people! And...let's run the idea into the ground completely!- then the movie becomes a ridiculous clusterfuck and loses everything that made it good in the first place.

Yup, Wrong Turn is chock full of some of my favorite horror movie tropes, from the weirdo gas station attendant to the car graveyard to the gross stinky house filled with gross stinky stuff.

That's what I like about this movie so much: it simply is what it is and it doesn't try to be anything else. The straightforward story and the decent amount of gore recall the horror films of the 1970s- it's just got that vibe about it, and it doesn't ever feel put-on or fake. That's what separates Wrong Turn from, say, the Texas Chainsaw Massacre remake- yeah, in the latter film the narration tells me it's set in the '70s and wow! Jessica Biel sings "Sweet Home Alabama" and they're going to a Skynyrd concert!- but the film feels every bit like a 2003 film. Wrong Turn isn't full of jump-cuts and frantic music video editing. In other words, the filmmakers don't point out how "cool" they're trying to be- they just tell the story. You know, like in the good old days, dagummit.

There are some incredibly effective scenes and sequences in Wrong Turn that prove Rob Schmidt knows a thing or two about tension: when the kids are exploring the cannibals' house and the cannibals return home and the kids have to hide and keep quiet? Oh yeah, that's good. Or how about when Scott (Jeremy Sisto) is running through the woods trying to escape and he gets pegged by some arrows? Uh huh- bring it on.

As I said earlier, Wrong Turn certainly has its flaws. The supporting characters (and the actors who play them) are far more interesting than the two leads- let's face it, Eliza Dushku (Jessie) and Desmond Harrington (Chris) have about 1.75 facial expressions between the two of them- and the main characters aren't terribly fleshed out. While the pace is fast throughout, the longer the film goes on the more preposterous it becomes: I'm thinking specifically of the tree-top battle that's like something out of Crouching Cuckoo, Hidden Nutso. The film loses steam at bit in that sequence, but it picks up again for the final showdown at Casa de Cannibals.

None of these shortcomings really detract from the film for me, however, and I still enjoy the hell out of it. There's a direct-to-DVD sequel due this fall, and you'd better believe I'll be checking it out the moment it hit shelves- and I won't even ask my mom if I can first!