The Queen Of Versailles is a horror film about a billionaire couple who fall on hard times due to the economy and are forced to fly commercial. It's gut-churningly terrifying. Sure, it's difficult to feel sorry for the characters in this film because everything in their house is gold-plated. Even though I myself am a billionaire, I think nearly everyone can relate to the plight of the Siegels. For instance, who hasn't gone to the Wal-Mart and struggled because you were uncertain how many Operation board games you needed to by for your children for Xmas? Who hasn't felt a little uncertainty because one of your nannies had to go live in the kids' playhouse? Who amongst us hasn't worried if we would have the funds to cover our next plastic surgery? And who hasn't creepily hit on Miss America at one of your dinner parties? All of those things have happened to me, and it's not funny when the $17,000 alligator boot is on the other foot.
Dionne Warwick, Marilyn McCoo, and Andy Gibb star in this music television program where dancers in revealing costumes perform slightly suggestive routines to popular radio hits from the 1980s.
Wait a minute. Someone from the Research And Development Department at Deathrage Industries just informed me that what I wrote above was the synopsis for the program Solid Gold, and that the video was a clip from Solid Gold with a dancing snowman. I am going to need some outside research to prove that this video is not from the film Xanadu, because I don't see how it couldn't be. Both Solid Gold and Xanadu have tube tops, spandex, leg warmers, mime, juggling, and overly rouged and lip-glossed men and women, so it's easy to get those things confused.
OK, so I was just told by the Legal Department at Deathrage Industries that the clip above is not from the television series Solid Gold, but it is the opening sequence to the film Xanadu that someone cleverly mashed together with footage of the Starship Enterprise blowing up and we've already gotten several cease-and-desist letters from Jeff Lynne, Olivia Newton-John, the ghost of Gene Kelly, and that guy who starred in Xanadu that no one remembers, and they're all pissed which is very strange as I haven't even published this blog post yet. Boy, those lawyers certainly do work fast.
Now I'm very confused. The next video just HAS to be Xanadu.
My executive assistant just informed me that the video above is not from Xanadu, but that it is a clip where someone put footage of the Solid Gold Dancers with the Benny Hill theme. While that's good for a chuckle, it doen't solve the main problem of which of these videos are from the film Xanadu and which are from the television show Solid Gold. I guess no one will ever know. Here's the trailer for the film Xanadu:
Trey Parker and Matt Stone star in this low-budget musical loosely based on the story of Alferd Packer. As you can probably guess from the title of the film, Alferd Packer was accused of eating his fellow prospectors after becoming lost in the Rocky Mountains, which isn't a very shpadoinkle thing to do, if you think about it. Trey Parker and Matt Stone do a shpadoinkle job of writing, filming, and scoring this musical, although it is slowly paced and seems longer than a 96 minute runtime.
OK, I'm just going to cut to the chase because we have a lot of ground to cover. The film opens with "Hungry Like The Wolf" by Duran Duran, and then Martin Kemp from Spandau Ballet takes a silver pen to the eye. I'm not sure what that has to do with strippers.
I'm not sure what that has to do with strippers, either, but that's not important right now. Sadly, some vaguely werewolf/stripper-related plot happens I think, and I'm left with a couple of questions. First of all, when you mutilate a corpse, should you wear a headband? And second, do werewolves wear tracksuits? I'm not sure, and I don't think I want to know the answer.
Anyway, I'm no authority on werewolves, but IMHO, these are fine examples of werewolves:
Yes
Yes
And these are NOT good examples of werewolves:
No
And definitely No.
I have been told by my children that the film franchise Twilight contains at least one shirtless werewolf named Taylor Lautner. I don't know anything about that, and I don't want to. You cannot convince me otherwise, regardless of the fact that I once reviewed one of the films in the franchise.
Anyway, the werewolves with the glued-on muttonchops and the B-squad of exotic dancers with the phony eyelashes do what werewolves and strippers are expected to do in any film promising an epic battle between werewolves and strippers, which is examine their relationships.
For a really long time.
I mean a really long time.
So the unconvincing werewolves plot something or other, and the unconvincingly strippers gyrate on the pole, and then the strippers soldier some stuff together and change lightbulbs, and what everyone wants to see when they want to watch an epic battle between strippers and werewolves would be a not-so-thrilling show about arts and crafts.
In conclusion, Strippers Vs. Werewolves is a lot like Snatch meets Notting Hill, only with strippers.
Well, more strippers. Or werewolves.
Actually, I don't know. Were there Werewolves in Notting Hill?
The Nightmare Before Christmas is a heartwarming holiday tale about the best holiday ever, Halloween. Our hero, Jack Skellington the Pumpkin King, becomes bored with Halloween for some wacky reason, and he becomes entranced by the evil spell of X-Mas. He abandons all interest in Halloween, and attempts to turn all of the citizens of Halloween Town into X-Mas fans, and for the life of me I can't figure out why the heck he would do that. When Jack discovers X-Mas Town, he sings a jaunty little tune where he asks, "What's This?". I'll tell you what the answer is. The answer is, "It's X-Mas, And It's Tacky". Why would anyone choose ugly, garish X-Mas over gloomy, morose Halloween? It boggles the mind. X-Mas has tinsel, and garlands, and ornaments. Halloween has severed heads, and skeletons, and jack o'lanterns. Seems like a no-brainer to me, but whatever. Anyway, at the end of The Nightmare Before Christmas everyone learns a valuable lesson, and that lesson is "X-Mas Sucks".
A successful businessman is tormented by a cheerful, non-sequitur spouting bastard man-child with a penchant for candy in this terrifying horror film. This film brings my mind to a halt. I don't understand it at all. It's a garland-filled nightmare from beginning to end. I could just vomit from all of the holiday cheer. Carols are sung, trees are murdered, and spaghetti is eaten. I have no idea what happens in this film, and I was looking for subtitles to explain it to me. Here's a clip where the two villains of the film, one of whom accuses the other of smelling like a Hickory Farms kiosk, fight in front of children potentially psychologically scarring them. I don't blame the children for screaming, because it is terrifying. BTW, this clip might not be safe for work if your work has rules against viewing Youtube clips featuring Zooey Deschanel.
Alastair Sim plays a successful businessman who is haunted by 3 ghosts in this terrifying horror film. The thrills never stop as spectres howl and shriek. Honestly, I can easily relate to the plot of this film. Who the heck do these ghosts think they are? Mr. Scrooge is trying to make his company as profitable as he can, and he can't do that if his loafing, good-for-nothing employees are constantly bitching about 'paid holidays', or 'pay', or 'benefits', or 'heat'. My employees are happy and content with 3 shillings an hour, and if they're not, they can take some holiday time off, and by "time off" I mean down the elevator shaft they go. This film strikes terror in me, as I can imagine how I would feel if ghosts or federal regulators came into my offices and started flinging fines or X-Mas cheer around and forced me to have 'humane' or 'satisfactory' or 'safe' working conditions. Seriously, I do not need ghosts or muckrakers or police screaming in my face shaking their chains or whatnot. It's not ok.
An outlandishly dressed horror TV show host who ridicules bad movies and drives a bitchin' car inherits a dilapidated mansion and turns all the town's squares against her in this terrible film. I had no problem with any of that, especially since there was a demonic casserole, angry villagers with flaming torches, and a clip or two of the film Attack Of The Killer Tomatoes. Spoiler alert: Near the end of the film; Elvira is nearly burned at the stake, and it's reminiscent of Carl Theodor Dreyer's The Passion Of Joan Of Arc if Carl Theodor Dreyer didn't give a crap about cinematography and if Joan Of Arc wore pasties. Elvira: Mistress Of The Dark is highly recommended if you like stuff that sucks.
The US President battles werewolves and commits bad-assery in this low-budget comedy. Corny, campy and offensive, FDR: American Badass attempts to rectify the fail that was Abraham Lincoln: Vampire Hunter. It also fails, but at least it wrings a couple of chuckles out of a lackluster script, several continuity errors, groan-inducing acting, cruddy CGI, and a decided lack of bad-asssery. Sure, FDR has machine-guns attached to his wheelchair, but he pulls a bunch of wussy maneuvers. I still felt FDR: American Badass accomplished what it set out to do, which wasn't very much. Here's a red-band trailer, which is NSFW due to language.
There's an evil Santa afoot in this boy's adventure tale. Unfortunately, there's not enough Evil Santa and not enough adventure. It's very well photographed and awfully quirky, but when I'm sold a bill of goods about Evil Santa, I sure as heck want a frothy-mouthed, ranting, blood-drenched, rampaging Evil Santa. Maybe I set my expectations too high. I liked Rare Exports, but found it to be a Bjork-y yuletide X-Files.
30-year-old high school students obsessively bully another 30-year-old high school student until he somehow travels backward in time in this not-very-science-y 80s comedy. I've been awfully busy lately, with the upcoming apocalypse and several unpleasant holidays looming. So that means I've been procrastinating almost everything. I've been doing a lot more shopping than I would like, out amongst humans, in the cold. I don't care for any of that. It means trying to find a parking spot, and walking, and being near people, and spending money, and doing everyone's shopping for them purchasing things they didn't know they wanted. It doesn't make a lot of sense to me, but whatevs. And that also means I am forced to listen to dreadful holiday music. I don't know how anyone stands it. It's a bunch of holly-jolly bullcrap. I looked through my music collection, and I was surprised to find that I inexplicably own 4 yuletide albums. 4! How is that even possible? It must have been some sort of awful accident. Let's listen to a few numbers, shall we?
That was an unusually uptempo holiday jam by the group Low, or as I like to call them, SLow. Why, that tune was nearly jaunty. They usually aren't, which is why I like them. If you really want to have a bummer holiday, play some Low holiday tunes. I know I do.
I searched all over the internet for a video of Kristin Hersh covering that tune by Big Star that shall go unnamed, but I couldn't find one. You just have to be satisfied with this live tune from that e.p., where she sings something about 'the flowers of narcissus are nailed to the underworld door' which sounds alright by me.
Here's a tune from the pagan holiday collection called A Winter's Solstice on the Windham Hill label. I try not to play this record very often, as it has the uncanny ability to make it snow whenever I do. Don't blame me if you play it and it snows where you live. I had nothing to do with it. Blame the Weather Channel.
And finally, here's a top jam that I'm certain will become a favorite at your house. I have a weakness for song-poems. They're fantastic. I'm not going to explain what a song-poem is, that's why the Internet invented Wikipedia. Look it up.
So, there's a few selections from my holiday music collection, and I hope you enjoyed it but I don't particularly care if you didn't. Funny, I think I was talking about something else, and I forgot what it was.
Temper flare while on tour in this documentary about the masked superhero. I realize that comic books are not meant to be the highest form of journalistic expression, but they should try to be a little more realistic in their depiction of true crime stories. I'm sure that occasionally Batman and Superman say the F-bomb. How couldn't you? If The Joker is dropping you off a 42-story skyscraper, or if Lex Luthor just jammed a chunk of kryptonite in your trousers, are you just going to say "Aw shoot, that is going to smart!". No, you wouldn't. All sort of filthy, foul language is going to escape from your lips. You certainly won't yell "Drat!", or "Fudge!". It'll be a lot worse than that, my friend. The comic books don't show this. Anyway, The Weird World Of Blowfly includes all the dirty talk, but very few crimes are solved.
The rise of roller derby culture in Portland is examined in this documentary. I enjoyed the part where the complicated rules of derby was explained using Voodoo Donuts. The film becomes a little maudlin and sentimental near the end, when some of the cake donuts and some of the old fashioned donuts quit the team due to injuries and donuts. Donuts sound good right now, and we should all go get some. I'll wait.
I'm still trying to figure out a derby name for myself. I'd like it to be colorful, and violent, and unusual, and it should have something to do with my actual name. Maybe Cutty something. Cuttyford Murderangersomething. Will that fit on a t-shirt? I don't know. I'll keep working on it.
Martin Scorsese narrates this slow-moving, scholarly documentary examining the connection between Cubist artists Pablo Picasso, Georges Braque and early experimental film. I was somewhat bored by this documentary in spite of all the beautiful cubist paintings. But suddenly, the film-makers decided to show a brief clip of a fascinating film called The Red Spectre, which is a documentary about a horned skeleton guy wearing a cape who paces back and forth with a flourish then levitates women and sets them on fire which is a pretty ballsy move in 1907.
Wasn't that awesome?!? I know!!! I have no idea what actually happened in this film but I'm behind it 100%. I hate to sound like a fawning fan-boy, but I'm totally going to find The Red Spectre on Facebook and befriend him. That's not too stalky, is it? Whatever. Speaking of stalking, thanks to Youtube stalking me I now have several other suggestions to watch at a later time. I'm going to watch Chamon's Haunted House from 1908, Melies' Haunted Castle from 1896, and Edison's Frankenstein from 1910. Technology is great, isn't it? I welcome our technological Orwellian overlords.
Deadheads is a charming love story about a guy who goes in search of his lost love. Unfortunately, he's a zombie. Don't misunderstand me, I wasn't charmed by the love story. That was gaggy. I found the low-budget zombie story to be charming, as I often do. The makeup is dodgy, the effects are dodgy, the script is dodgy, but I enjoyed it. It's no Shaun Of The Dead, but what is?
All of the usual pro-UFO subjects are interviewed in this flying saucer documentary. What is it about UFO enthusiasts that cause them to don bolo ties once they hear they're going to be interviewed for a UFO documentary? If you're going to be interviewed on camera, you need to tighten up your look. A bolo tie is not the answer.
Take a little advice from me; if you're going to make a high-quality UFO documentary:
Lose the bolo ties
Get your interview subjects to wear a quality suit and maybe a subtle pocket square
Sasquatch hunters unveil some dubious and disturbing evidence in this not-very-scientific documentary. I would like to know what criteria the hunters use if they describe some blurry, dimly-lit Bigfoot footage from Neck Sweat, Texas as 'definitive' and a presumed Bigfoot hand in a jar as 'possible'. I realize that some DNA testing would have to be done, but I would think a hand in a jar would rate a little better than a few poorly-shot frames of trees on a videotape. Heck, what do I know, I'm not a scientist. Anyway, everyone gets pretty excited after someone finds a Bigfoot bed, which looked to me like some flattened grass. I would have to assume that the evidence they found that would prove it was a Bigfoot bed would be some scented candles, a few casually scattered rose petals, and a Barry White cassette, but again, I'm no expert. We also get to hear some recorded Bigfoot cries, which sounds to me like Swedish death metal. Again, I'm no expert, but I was always under the impression that Bigfoot is a big fan of 1970s funk.
