tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-77589701910412146382024-03-04T22:51:36.164-08:00Stabford Deathrage Shoots His Mouth OffStabford Deathragehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15924313514441970164noreply@blogger.comBlogger1364125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7758970191041214638.post-34140186057856603402022-10-05T12:46:00.003-07:002022-10-05T13:04:15.849-07:00I'm just not in the holiday spirit<p><br /></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgoogScpY5IFgEDZmKHF7H0By18loBi1Mx8woiErvf5K55XKBsjdbHKLaJFHy9MN-THMrQIlAdevRuABUKjiyoHoC8pA7rDr1OCy9plUWi1dFOSxXmgPf58E1f2uw7IITphu470QVWPAPmgn-1WTJFW_9RNdC-xZ3wam17-KbRg4Fn01FNdFc9zkw" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="225" data-original-width="225" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgoogScpY5IFgEDZmKHF7H0By18loBi1Mx8woiErvf5K55XKBsjdbHKLaJFHy9MN-THMrQIlAdevRuABUKjiyoHoC8pA7rDr1OCy9plUWi1dFOSxXmgPf58E1f2uw7IITphu470QVWPAPmgn-1WTJFW_9RNdC-xZ3wam17-KbRg4Fn01FNdFc9zkw" width="240" /></a></div><br /><br /><p></p><p>My Halloween enthusiasm is at an all time low. Here it is, the 27th day of Halloween, and I've done almost nothing to celebrate. Sure, it's easy to just say Everyday Is Halloween, and I have, but I usually try to officially begin the season on the day summer dies, which is the day after Labor Day. </p><p></p><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><iframe allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/2zfS3VPaNxc" title="YouTube video player" width="560"></iframe></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Hey, don't get me wrong. I enjoy 15 or 20 minutes of warm weather and sunshine as much as the next person. <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEi8pVT5XAY7gNiXfbUuwLbo58LObdSG2n3TDe72S9bCDJ7eTg0f4A0d6-2mvMmJj3FgwIxJlAyXDsI6o1mf6YB2_mZ17eGzrEgLGof-67W-2mUd-i8y7HL765c8euzk88MgwzqDbpn2tjOXiN23JFGCnL4p5Zg-yo73zcbujitCPO3vQU078LaxMw" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="730" data-original-width="828" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEi8pVT5XAY7gNiXfbUuwLbo58LObdSG2n3TDe72S9bCDJ7eTg0f4A0d6-2mvMmJj3FgwIxJlAyXDsI6o1mf6YB2_mZ17eGzrEgLGof-67W-2mUd-i8y7HL765c8euzk88MgwzqDbpn2tjOXiN23JFGCnL4p5Zg-yo73zcbujitCPO3vQU078LaxMw" width="272" /></a></div></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">But what I really enjoy is when the swimming pools are drained and barbecue grills are stowed away for the summer, and the Food Network hosts get dressed as Liza Minelli and start hot-gluing livestock to serving plates to create their holiday table-scapes.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><iframe allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/MZktkXT_2gA" title="YouTube video player" width="560"></iframe></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">So I've only scattered a dozen or so additional candles around the penthouse, and only covered some of the furniture in black shrouds, and only added a few additional skulls where they were needed, and only eaten one box of Halloween Oreos. Out of the Universal Monsters box set, I've only watched The Invisible Man. I've only watched Monsters Crash The Pajama Party once.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><iframe allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/OvRmRN1-O0Q" title="YouTube video player" width="560"></iframe></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">The only Halloween-themed vinyl I've listened to is my copy of Spook Show Spectacular A-Go-Go.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><iframe allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/lZYEkRZ-KSU" title="YouTube video player" width="560"></iframe></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">I forgot to hang up my folk art witch, I haven't hung up my wreath with the plastic bloody eyeballs, I haven't purchased any festive holiday gourds, I haven't bought any candy corn, and I only have the one container of green Funfetti Frosting with the candy googly eyes. What if I have some sort of Funfetti-related cake emergency? It wouldn't be the first time.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiOcMTxQEql8aS-OKQO4BYpkkTTp2ecYL-v-FcedzAQ-gjrGIcijLsm--dFwxc_3NRa5QBFU6vXBXMOE-v9alsYauLQID8jtBBOUtC6_eKaOxGQ_aZgH5-8o5kS_4czV0fuR2MCR3JI02dsSJCOIE6A_n0Ut3sUTg_MCuSxiwZRBMNVKADMWt5i4w" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="245" data-original-width="205" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiOcMTxQEql8aS-OKQO4BYpkkTTp2ecYL-v-FcedzAQ-gjrGIcijLsm--dFwxc_3NRa5QBFU6vXBXMOE-v9alsYauLQID8jtBBOUtC6_eKaOxGQ_aZgH5-8o5kS_4czV0fuR2MCR3JI02dsSJCOIE6A_n0Ut3sUTg_MCuSxiwZRBMNVKADMWt5i4w" width="201" /></a></div><br />As you can clearly see, I'm completely unprepared for the holiday and I'm undergoing some sort of crisis. Ok, maybe crisis is a bit strong. It's just Halloween, I'm sure I'm fine.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEit4AsxKo9FG3hThr5okDBQOS9wLK-5_cSDiAKgHxvo5lSQOrHeS_DSNOL1vgPC6TMJJIWuyogz4jJY1f-VqXETBnchtYRLCt_1Ahtaf6hAv9I_6WbNbMv4jYIb2_pRnWiSmH_5hLQDqkciXZdd4-c8V0pO4hptx5OPHoxcto4VGqqXzH45j6Mfww" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="501" data-original-width="752" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEit4AsxKo9FG3hThr5okDBQOS9wLK-5_cSDiAKgHxvo5lSQOrHeS_DSNOL1vgPC6TMJJIWuyogz4jJY1f-VqXETBnchtYRLCt_1Ahtaf6hAv9I_6WbNbMv4jYIb2_pRnWiSmH_5hLQDqkciXZdd4-c8V0pO4hptx5OPHoxcto4VGqqXzH45j6Mfww" width="320" /></a></div><br />Ok, so maybe there is one little, teensy, tiny issue, and it almost isn't even worth bothering to mention, and no, it wasn't that time I went to the farmer's market and accidentally purchased $18 worth of grapes, although that was extremely delicious and traumatic. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjB_OcMBjq-R11NtMqhcnAoKEUJtvPCqV3S3pjshZroMvycwqzltwrCXjmGGIpT-G8mmblyXJYaNTYoiLOxi7vQk3ikQk1N7hL8WXBuJfufdtF-SbK_sl7b6cP_-6sA4ouR2RG9uS35FDrzW_-RWkuqBuJuTBIhOsaRXazfgPpJu4LIOrxfkccmOA" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="183" data-original-width="275" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjB_OcMBjq-R11NtMqhcnAoKEUJtvPCqV3S3pjshZroMvycwqzltwrCXjmGGIpT-G8mmblyXJYaNTYoiLOxi7vQk3ikQk1N7hL8WXBuJfufdtF-SbK_sl7b6cP_-6sA4ouR2RG9uS35FDrzW_-RWkuqBuJuTBIhOsaRXazfgPpJu4LIOrxfkccmOA" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>AKA, The Grapening</i></div><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Really, fruit shouldn't be $7 a pound. No one needs that much fruit. Grape jam is about $3 a jar, and it's filled with all kinds of grapes. But no, that's not what I'm getting at, even though getting grifted for grapes really gets my goat. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">What I'm getting at is that here in what should be known as The Worst Year Ever For My Health (and not The Grapening), I was recently diagnosed with Spasmodic Dysphonia. It's fine. It's difficult to speak, but it's fine. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg_HxD9HQm3aT3wGswH3qXqGrhu8-EMKgcJk9V4U8pdly_SLT-x9-6GjAnii4l95cHCF4uN-cfMatOxstDHENWF3cxAhBHK0WuklmK1nMw69Gkg115cz_BLAranzTEnqkjUpEyUyCGVbwNHzqJbFH0eoUajBFKvlmbz_Oc1iPQW3py18-7aXgCv8w" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="146" data-original-width="345" height="135" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg_HxD9HQm3aT3wGswH3qXqGrhu8-EMKgcJk9V4U8pdly_SLT-x9-6GjAnii4l95cHCF4uN-cfMatOxstDHENWF3cxAhBHK0WuklmK1nMw69Gkg115cz_BLAranzTEnqkjUpEyUyCGVbwNHzqJbFH0eoUajBFKvlmbz_Oc1iPQW3py18-7aXgCv8w" width="320" /></a></div><br />Seriously, don't listen to that meme up there. In the grand scheme, it could be much worse. My voice is shaky and weird, and I get some odd stares. It's no big deal. I'll get some treatment, and I'll be back to yammering on like I usually do. And I'm in good company with Diane Rehm, Linda Thompson, Mary Lou Lord, and Darryl McDaniels of Run-DMC, who all have it. So in the meantime, I'm going to hang up that folk art witch, hang up my bloody-eyed wreath, and go buy some candy corn.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><iframe allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/BcCaycrPIa0" title="YouTube video player" width="560"></iframe>
</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br div="" style="text-align: left;" /><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Even though it's difficult to communicate, and I haven't posted much lately, I just wanted to take a moment to thank you all for reading this dumb little blog that talks about nearly everything but the thing it's supposed to talk about. I appreciate you all. Talk to you all soon. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><a href="https://dysphonia.org">https://dysphonia.org</a></div><div style="text-align: left;"><a href="https://www.nidcd.nih.gov/health/spasmodic-dysphonia">https://www.nidcd.nih.gov/health/spasmodic-dysphonia</a></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div>Stabford Deathragehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15924313514441970164noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7758970191041214638.post-74598530948550872352022-02-25T13:03:00.000-08:002022-02-25T13:03:20.751-08:00The House That Dripped Blood<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEh-cV6sV_PrvSxPzw1Z3iKrE-1uFw6xTf13pOSiqhSRassXqE2c5rLGdGbMGLub772N8Z1vlAgJhT4FslL9L2VXCe-SGEbtwbjfnU2ZtDxyHKQ7toGO-xJNwr0yqy3DYDuL0S90OG7NlDCEhmtFMJyAy-jVTpbolJ7Guu-UIk2-BG7bQJrmRjJ-jQ" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="300" data-original-width="700" height="137" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEh-cV6sV_PrvSxPzw1Z3iKrE-1uFw6xTf13pOSiqhSRassXqE2c5rLGdGbMGLub772N8Z1vlAgJhT4FslL9L2VXCe-SGEbtwbjfnU2ZtDxyHKQ7toGO-xJNwr0yqy3DYDuL0S90OG7NlDCEhmtFMJyAy-jVTpbolJ7Guu-UIk2-BG7bQJrmRjJ-jQ" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">As usual, I'm fashionably late to the Hammer-Amicus party. As usual, I have several not-especially good or believable reasons which I'm going to explain in lengthy detail. Before I do any of that, I'd like to thank Gill of <a href="https://weegiemidget.wordpress.com" target="_blank">Realweegiemidget Reviews</a> and Barry at <a href="https://cinematiccatharsis.blogspot.com" target="_blank">Cinematic Catharsis</a> for inviting me to contribute to the Third Hammer-Amicus Blogathon in spite of my chronic tardiness. As usual, I'm always touched and flattered that they would include me. So on to the review.</div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgi163Ubih28TD9i_N8xlt9mx_OsP-Jb5Cx316kE7FdeRpyZDugjxm6aqhASC1zHMURqx4T_DODk1ki7BpoLgVMBZFEPZs1_JdoBx-JwcSYy58PoBWtuKpSs0gP0EkPXccRKpiSza0hFA80tKsj4G0vFjRzCbXtJPBjOxHEfoClvL64s7Xyc-JD-Q" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="261" data-original-width="193" height="238" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgi163Ubih28TD9i_N8xlt9mx_OsP-Jb5Cx316kE7FdeRpyZDugjxm6aqhASC1zHMURqx4T_DODk1ki7BpoLgVMBZFEPZs1_JdoBx-JwcSYy58PoBWtuKpSs0gP0EkPXccRKpiSza0hFA80tKsj4G0vFjRzCbXtJPBjOxHEfoClvL64s7Xyc-JD-Q=w177-h238" width="177" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b><i>The House That Dripped Blood</i></b></span></div> <p></p><p>Speaking of houses, it's a cold and snowy day, and I've been trapped in Deathrage Tower with a particularly nasty case of bronchitis. Between breathless bouts of hacking coughs, wheezing, and gasping, I've been online shopping for items I do not need and watching episodes of Country Life Vlog on Youtube.</p><p style="text-align: center;"> <iframe allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/p4PBolC59ls" title="YouTube video player" width="560"></iframe></p><p>A couple in Azerbaijan cook outdoors, milk cows, harvest herbs and vegetables, and build things. It's fascinating and mystifying. I would love to be the sort of person who is able to exist in daylight in the great outdoors, doing things and enjoying home-brewed beverages, but after about 17 seconds I would be a shriveled, dehydrated husk from sun poisoning and mosquito bites, surrounded by partially completed and abandoned projects, mummified in a Cocteau Twins t-shirt near a handmade brick oven I was never really going to finish building anyway, and you might as well bury me under those bricks because it's now my tomb. </p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhKKjFLihG4DLcgS1On-9rXuT15P0NEAl8EIhycZLNReIYLiD9xpiVmLbp5Zz3MqJf4B8mlj3ftxV-nGoBwQphAJzPSb9kLUei983UtpdnIluQVrsEAom2smRQ51kDMvvw6ieOLygDMByYVYM2NbEfPAyAhifWE1C4m6D1OMUgaYMHmxAAkvI6-Jw" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="278" data-original-width="357" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhKKjFLihG4DLcgS1On-9rXuT15P0NEAl8EIhycZLNReIYLiD9xpiVmLbp5Zz3MqJf4B8mlj3ftxV-nGoBwQphAJzPSb9kLUei983UtpdnIluQVrsEAom2smRQ51kDMvvw6ieOLygDMByYVYM2NbEfPAyAhifWE1C4m6D1OMUgaYMHmxAAkvI6-Jw" width="308" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>Yes, I know this is Otzi the Iceman and he died frozen in the Alps so don't @ me. It's still a mood.</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><br /></i></div>Speaking of Otzi's twisted arm, to add injury to insult I was recently diagnosed with Shoulder Impingement Syndrome in my right shoulder, so I haven't been able to lift my arm above my chest or carry anything heavier than a coffee cup for months, and it has been very irksome, especially since it's extremely important to me to be able to lift several cups of coffee every morning. Well, not at the same time, you know what I mean. A couple of weeks ago I received a steroid shot and began physical therapy, and I've regained motion in it, although it's still pretty weak. Anyway, enough about my physical ailments. Back to the review.<p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhC8WjCskXSeiOHSq9JYMV8-kuyFjKLPBL2uT-IGU49kO5BOKCBuWKjCoG1VjeGDwluhqboFw59t4Te9ggsl1HkBXFERruRKTIiE87z7T5iC21H_C5HLBiH8eCCRjxmsKeO-x_1NN2x6554qYeJx2iXmab-xPZKOAShlzIUzOxwEmHH9Rk_jLxMXA" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="278" data-original-width="182" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhC8WjCskXSeiOHSq9JYMV8-kuyFjKLPBL2uT-IGU49kO5BOKCBuWKjCoG1VjeGDwluhqboFw59t4Te9ggsl1HkBXFERruRKTIiE87z7T5iC21H_C5HLBiH8eCCRjxmsKeO-x_1NN2x6554qYeJx2iXmab-xPZKOAShlzIUzOxwEmHH9Rk_jLxMXA" width="157" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b><i>The House That Dripped Blood</i></b></span></div><p></p><p>Speaking of my body atrophying and decaying into dust, I purchased a new T-shirt from Void Merch, and although I don't <i>really</i> need a 3000th t-shirt, this one aptly describes what it's like to live my life right now. (Who am I kidding, I'm always in the market for the right t-shirt.)</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgy2-M1PsMx6gsmr3pU9B26Q0YValclvT1e9R2mNIpZyXUXupUJeRCYTO9KlQjEnD7i42JMNM213NJZQT_arZIzeQPu700qdJoYJI3OjEqFlU03hFggBZsfsf541fDpo-SzVpaLo4PfUItCmtCJTPIN8PDl6x3S1c3zPZsfkZqeZ8wmITneoXRypQ" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="150" data-original-width="150" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgy2-M1PsMx6gsmr3pU9B26Q0YValclvT1e9R2mNIpZyXUXupUJeRCYTO9KlQjEnD7i42JMNM213NJZQT_arZIzeQPu700qdJoYJI3OjEqFlU03hFggBZsfsf541fDpo-SzVpaLo4PfUItCmtCJTPIN8PDl6x3S1c3zPZsfkZqeZ8wmITneoXRypQ" width="240" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://voidmerch.threadless.com/designs/my-body-is-a-temple-ancient-and-crumbling/masc/t-shirt/regular">https://voidmerch.threadless.com/designs/my-body-is-a-temple-ancient-and-crumbling/masc/t-shirt/regular</a></div><br /><p></p><p>They have tons of great shirts so head on over and buy one, and follow Dread Singles on twitter <a href="https://twitter.com/hottestsingles" target="_blank">@hottestsingles</a>. You'd be cool if you did. So thanks for indulging me, and on to the review.</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEh5tU8gXbUq6sjoqDkPKQvQb4nNRAzRrD4jBK6fYWaNFT2k2pD1J8R6S-MUhGrLBhY3XYDCX5qRp8Qy3ZhDEEQtx7rg5m75WfPZgjSELAHuRuhOObz31_hUD641cItbC5J8V5YIUVSOlHWv0N3p1LuxAl764wsyReH0vDF50vaEq3cO6undN4T0jQ" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="259" data-original-width="194" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEh5tU8gXbUq6sjoqDkPKQvQb4nNRAzRrD4jBK6fYWaNFT2k2pD1J8R6S-MUhGrLBhY3XYDCX5qRp8Qy3ZhDEEQtx7rg5m75WfPZgjSELAHuRuhOObz31_hUD641cItbC5J8V5YIUVSOlHWv0N3p1LuxAl764wsyReH0vDF50vaEq3cO6undN4T0jQ" width="180" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-large; font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">The House That Dripped Blood</span></div><br /><p></p><p>Speaking of drippy houses, I've decided to become a high-powered real estate magnate. I purchased an additional property, and I'm running an AirBNB out of it because I guess I don't have enough to do and I like cleaning up after strangers who have been touching all of my possessions. </p><p style="text-align: center;"><iframe allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/_bpBSeekSAA" title="YouTube video player" width="560"></iframe> </p><p>In all the twists and turns in my career(s) in the past couple of years, I didn't see scrubbing showers, mopping floors, and smudging for negative energies for a living (Ha!) coming (I usually just do that for fun), but look at me hustle. So far, it seems to be just an ordinary property that doesn't drip blood, unfortunately, and doesn't seem to be haunted by busty female vampires but nothing's perfect I guess, and our guests have been satisfied. Hopefully soon we'll achieve SuperGhost status. </p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhxL6qF7mVywRStKK2adGZiSZpVrLdmEu3wyi5Zn6IrPSCdGgStFsqyV-WeGZwgN9gGiJf8pvMr3ZSqRFZk7xZFdA6jlzR-jEeknbkaKcKbC3SZ4MZWFx7C8BPLMMK2QzpkfFk3sGFl_o9wcfd2FKG_jqd3ZqQaUUioKTLvcW6ZCxcaKK9cNZxCVg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="168" data-original-width="300" height="179" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhxL6qF7mVywRStKK2adGZiSZpVrLdmEu3wyi5Zn6IrPSCdGgStFsqyV-WeGZwgN9gGiJf8pvMr3ZSqRFZk7xZFdA6jlzR-jEeknbkaKcKbC3SZ4MZWFx7C8BPLMMK2QzpkfFk3sGFl_o9wcfd2FKG_jqd3ZqQaUUioKTLvcW6ZCxcaKK9cNZxCVg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Did I just forget to take out the garbage?</span></div><br /><p></p><p>Anyway, on to the review. For real this time. Or is it?</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEh-bk40S-x4zuTNKs_3rk5TPa_n2EQNd52Cp9cwW8zfS0U2L9b87_nGI0TkgSv3Kw5J5rwpaU_Hq_xtj1Y6h_I2Vuw_f6ldRzQYDeME5HfJzHY6JEMNqP0qvSvUX3qZ4J54tTKnAamEqHctwBOvfQRP8nqfwD4Tv_J8Bw2LlbTRnmoB7fD-Kwc04g" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="165" data-original-width="306" height="173" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEh-bk40S-x4zuTNKs_3rk5TPa_n2EQNd52Cp9cwW8zfS0U2L9b87_nGI0TkgSv3Kw5J5rwpaU_Hq_xtj1Y6h_I2Vuw_f6ldRzQYDeME5HfJzHY6JEMNqP0qvSvUX3qZ4J54tTKnAamEqHctwBOvfQRP8nqfwD4Tv_J8Bw2LlbTRnmoB7fD-Kwc04g" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-large; font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">The House That Dripped Blood</span></div><p></p><p>A horror writer comes to an obviously stigmatized property to write a novel about a strangler, and he wears a white cable-knit cardigan and a Pepto-Bismol pink button-down shirt which distracts. He keeps a skull on his desk in an attempt to create a sinister atmosphere, but I have 4 skulls in my kitchen alone, so make of that what you will. </p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhitxco9-6oPZPI1gRSg5nKmA3cPdUNhfNSEYJedISOLP3FjKfj19JJ6PT3b6EB-09xxOK2-AKYTwKK6wqiJBGk4-dNNGQeM7-dKEeAI2oIlmjLOMtdwadXGCW17dEUxplWCI8kydXIMRb_XMeKXOTagrtqCJkwLQ7SvkVi7DhHjSxAWyi2VmNzqg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="194" data-original-width="259" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhitxco9-6oPZPI1gRSg5nKmA3cPdUNhfNSEYJedISOLP3FjKfj19JJ6PT3b6EB-09xxOK2-AKYTwKK6wqiJBGk4-dNNGQeM7-dKEeAI2oIlmjLOMtdwadXGCW17dEUxplWCI8kydXIMRb_XMeKXOTagrtqCJkwLQ7SvkVi7DhHjSxAWyi2VmNzqg" width="320" /></a></div><br />Someone eats soft boiled eggs in egg cups. Suddenly, the strangler from the novel appears. He glares from a chair, but through a window it's revealed that he's no specter but just a guy in a mask, sort of like what happened in every episode of Scooby-Doo. <p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjbb_SkBmzpjB1Tc1Qdy61m28pl2hHsh-eRelLMO26svwhfLWwhAcZoFiN2O_Hr-jhEhVZDn5-00l1VIwOcpxw13RsrUlk2rZu7FFfuAR1nKTP0MiTc7C5iwCwec41gh92sRPR412fIlbBJBbuOfv89GQIX4l17X_UjuX1VjFIC-3oZNuRPkm7-pQ" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="194" data-original-width="259" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjbb_SkBmzpjB1Tc1Qdy61m28pl2hHsh-eRelLMO26svwhfLWwhAcZoFiN2O_Hr-jhEhVZDn5-00l1VIwOcpxw13RsrUlk2rZu7FFfuAR1nKTP0MiTc7C5iwCwec41gh92sRPR412fIlbBJBbuOfv89GQIX4l17X_UjuX1VjFIC-3oZNuRPkm7-pQ" width="320" /></a></div><br /><br /><p></p><p>Or is it just a guy in a mask? </p><p>No, it is. </p><p>Then, a bachelor businessman moves into the house because he now has more time to listen to music and garden, wear a red dressing gown, and stand by duck-filled ponds and put one foot on a stump like Captain Morgan. </p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhXcKoKKIsYMb3KCCOcYrTGqQc9hva42ELthqgdTthL7_XICOsXbHLZWNDB3B_J9P3GzLu0UqWMRqOl5L1Ng2qj9JvZhl5qJs_kks53rz4Urwpgqjh6FaR3XlNfz2zC-pLlC9FiWS2WVKPqM96HExa2-qHF7Cfb4T8OtSzHSyB8fTIlAuUhWR2HFQ" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="253" data-original-width="199" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhXcKoKKIsYMb3KCCOcYrTGqQc9hva42ELthqgdTthL7_XICOsXbHLZWNDB3B_J9P3GzLu0UqWMRqOl5L1Ng2qj9JvZhl5qJs_kks53rz4Urwpgqjh6FaR3XlNfz2zC-pLlC9FiWS2WVKPqM96HExa2-qHF7Cfb4T8OtSzHSyB8fTIlAuUhWR2HFQ" width="189" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><i>Just when you expected a Captain Morgan meme.</i></div><p></p><p>The bachelor goes to the town's Museum Of Horror, which is an interesting but unlikely tourist attraction that somehow survives without charging admission. The interior of the museum isn't particularly terrifying, although the visual interest and Dutch angles jumps up several notches during a dream sequence. A dull friend comes for a dull visit. </p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgGFqoZNdrIh5IO5xOkYHKWFiUfZF1-Sg0_JjpYX26xuam9VMrdLFdLPcWgXJnOw5zu2Y91ZKAi_OzM-5svYgpXMWHHv4vDSdpKDhGc7bXdUX7LTQDbr6I7ZskAEZvFPJTghki6qxua9el92ftXrksJfwulEfDHwhvDwgLjDBdRjxYAbHNuNYdMkw" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="165" data-original-width="305" height="173" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgGFqoZNdrIh5IO5xOkYHKWFiUfZF1-Sg0_JjpYX26xuam9VMrdLFdLPcWgXJnOw5zu2Y91ZKAi_OzM-5svYgpXMWHHv4vDSdpKDhGc7bXdUX7LTQDbr6I7ZskAEZvFPJTghki6qxua9el92ftXrksJfwulEfDHwhvDwgLjDBdRjxYAbHNuNYdMkw" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>This dream sequence contrasts nicely with my evening apparel.</i></div><br /><p></p><p>At this point, I'm becoming drowsy. Then a man is scared of his own child, who has a wax figure of her father which she stabs with pins. The figure gets thrown into the fire, and I nod off in front of the TV.</p><p>I awake to the final vignette, where a couple moves into the house, and the husband goes down into the crypt-like basement to find Ingrid Pitt and her plunging décolletage rising from her coffin. Surprising almost no one, I fall asleep in spite of all the vampire happenings.</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhn3tGvYD2FdZmW19dCkW1xwsYhkjVZ0rG4IQOLCXzr_u2llNjylNSmcGVuQEgRAZLqXT3alqOv814qKCWOcho_fvY6aKmDgh9DDhdLLj_PWE4qHt6ztnsziKdSFf3h7bNx5sXKYUGFRXAxHxefSHytvM6ZMNcqZyUUq5qWVTn_FivGm4azp4pdUw" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="183" data-original-width="275" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhn3tGvYD2FdZmW19dCkW1xwsYhkjVZ0rG4IQOLCXzr_u2llNjylNSmcGVuQEgRAZLqXT3alqOv814qKCWOcho_fvY6aKmDgh9DDhdLLj_PWE4qHt6ztnsziKdSFf3h7bNx5sXKYUGFRXAxHxefSHytvM6ZMNcqZyUUq5qWVTn_FivGm4azp4pdUw" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>I know, it's inexplicable. I blame all the bathroom scrubbing.</i></div><br /><p></p><p>The House That Dripped Blood is a better than average vignette-style horror film. It has its moments, and it drags in places, which is par for the course for this film format. I recommend staying awake while viewing it, particularly when Ingrid Pitt does her thing.</p><p><br /></p><div style="text-align: center;"><iframe allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/nNO3yw0Cg5I" title="YouTube video player" width="560"></iframe></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Thanks again to Gill and Barry for inviting me to the Hammer-Amicus Blogathon and putting up with my shenanigans.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><iframe allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/yYSfXp8U5-M" title="YouTube video player" width="560"></iframe></div>Stabford Deathragehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15924313514441970164noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7758970191041214638.post-6603493253008576382021-09-06T05:47:00.002-07:002023-01-08T08:50:12.059-08:00Highlander (1986)<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWI0KNiB1qMU690_6v1Hdv6te0Ix5apweJyqiKOeu9GscYGSmfWgCVPBVf2fG_oNn4g264zvYxyS8F1pvFf6vREM5yuX2216V9NeOf_L8MkyVfD2zvi22chUqfqhnsy8GA0w0BM9LMiQ/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="438" data-original-width="700" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWI0KNiB1qMU690_6v1Hdv6te0Ix5apweJyqiKOeu9GscYGSmfWgCVPBVf2fG_oNn4g264zvYxyS8F1pvFf6vREM5yuX2216V9NeOf_L8MkyVfD2zvi22chUqfqhnsy8GA0w0BM9LMiQ/" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p>I'd like to express my sincere thanks to Gill of Realweegiemidget Reviews for inviting me to the New Romantic Blogathon, because if I'm known for anything, it's my encyclopedic knowledge of frilly shirts, synth pop, and excess. </p><p>Now I know what you're thinking, Stabford has yet again missed the memo. Realweegiemidget Reviews has graciously invited me to the No True Scotsman Blogathon, and I admit I don't know an awful lot about Scotland, Scottish actors, or kilts. However, I do know an awful lot about dodgy accents, extravagant outfits, and music videos disguised as movies, which is why I'm absolutely convinced since I'm reviewing the head-lopping, mid-80s, sword-and-trenchcoat, Scottish noir fantasy Highlander directed by music video auteur Russell Mulcahy, that this blogathon was just itching to be plundered, and here we are. </p><p style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: large;">Highlander (1986)</span></b></p><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px;"><p style="text-align: center;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhO6sx4bbnWYlloT-jZ0Odtb2wKvr0ZchQiVoM3azbM46e6QS-CRCg_FbEEROyNb2SfOBhshGBVVhBaFRrV3P4Jqyu9qHXJgLZ0BC-Bhdwajw592hlPQi0ZgQD-2mHPGVc7vNhu86aCeg/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="273" data-original-width="185" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhO6sx4bbnWYlloT-jZ0Odtb2wKvr0ZchQiVoM3azbM46e6QS-CRCg_FbEEROyNb2SfOBhshGBVVhBaFRrV3P4Jqyu9qHXJgLZ0BC-Bhdwajw592hlPQi0ZgQD-2mHPGVc7vNhu86aCeg/" width="163" /></a></div><p style="text-align: center;"><br /></p></blockquote><p>Before I get to the review, maybe I should explain a little about what the New Romantic movement was. It was a pop culture movement that lasted about two weeks during the late 1970s and early 1980s, and neither me nor my closet have ever really gotten over it, with my chrome sneakers, collection of various scarves, and unusually high number of skinny ties dating back to Interpol's first record, but that's neither here nor there. Anyway, the New Romantic movement consisted of hair spray, eyeliner, extravagant blouses, shouting the phrase "Shiver me timbers!", and synthesizers, and for the life of me I just can't figure out why it never caught on.</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZXdzF9PXDOKNZwg9EhnUcuzP6p43a3JotC9KjvLMp1bVSLU8380u2pHCABUkx8wUyhHfwmfhHo6UEjgNqpKCUOekFmtueJAoDsMNKjz0KaN5hWqk6rt1l2q4uygzsFVhqty8PuO-neg/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="267" data-original-width="189" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZXdzF9PXDOKNZwg9EhnUcuzP6p43a3JotC9KjvLMp1bVSLU8380u2pHCABUkx8wUyhHfwmfhHo6UEjgNqpKCUOekFmtueJAoDsMNKjz0KaN5hWqk6rt1l2q4uygzsFVhqty8PuO-neg/" width="170" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>"Ridicule is nothing to be scared of"</i></div><br /><p></p><p style="text-align: center;"></p><div style="text-align: left;">Before I get to the review, I'm just going to say that watching Highlander was a little triggering, because it reminded me of all those times during the early 80s when I nonchalantly strolled down damp, foggy Austrian streets as spotlights illuminated my shadow against buildings while I dramatically bundled up my trench coat fashionably around my neck to combat the chill and oops I'm forgetting that I was never in the band Ultravox and the music video to their classic song Vienna was not one of my actual memories.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><iframe allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/xJeWySiuq1I" title="YouTube video player" width="560"></iframe> </div><p></p><p style="text-align: center;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><p>I'm not going to say that I didn't have my share of evenings out in the 80s hopping from nightclub to nightclub in ridiculous outfits; scarved, Aquanetted and eyelinered within an inch of my life, because I did, but unfortunately since it was the early 1980s there are no pictures to confirm this and you'll have to take my word for it that I looked excessive, slightly pirate-y, and amazing. </p><p><br /></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEid-hMXhu7DH4GgZzpOuE2xwDDmxkRzi3fmSldFh_2NbZstGfJPR19NfIPnyhrESAOJNFP5zk7W17nD97E4e0Qs9NmiMhpzobB9IFcZKCsJtQ8U_44SWzxtymq2-RdKlB_UTbURGY_UxA/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="609" data-original-width="812" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEid-hMXhu7DH4GgZzpOuE2xwDDmxkRzi3fmSldFh_2NbZstGfJPR19NfIPnyhrESAOJNFP5zk7W17nD97E4e0Qs9NmiMhpzobB9IFcZKCsJtQ8U_44SWzxtymq2-RdKlB_UTbURGY_UxA/" width="320" /></a></div><p style="text-align: center;"><i>What I thought I looked like</i></p><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgd4CznfgxcLzo9BTNVc5t1shazsnzXKOKgxjRH19m4M6EfMr9uZqNPnPAUvIRmu6Y8onycuYfFWrWKjLhi3lMub5AmVfOL0x_1wqj4r6DssSEOMVE3o8Dz2fqu-OACr8r7wlwzFkZIew/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="168" data-original-width="300" height="179" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgd4CznfgxcLzo9BTNVc5t1shazsnzXKOKgxjRH19m4M6EfMr9uZqNPnPAUvIRmu6Y8onycuYfFWrWKjLhi3lMub5AmVfOL0x_1wqj4r6DssSEOMVE3o8Dz2fqu-OACr8r7wlwzFkZIew/" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><i>What I actually looked like</i></div><p><br /></p>Anyway, enough about my early-80s penchant for wearing a scarf as a headband, because I mean who didn't go through one of those phases am I right? Let's get back to the review.<p></p><p><br /></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b>Highlander (1986)</b></span></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-iH5J-ZtLqbtJfgu2btduLvwmi3QqgyjXlDifdcxbXuM0csspVwBVhsKD6CEUI03f5NYrQuF1t_GUoJyenz3GVljaT3TGSpvkvGTguHx1KURBekuu6sbMLq6QotuYwNyeTd5rkfQhZA/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="154" data-original-width="326" height="151" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-iH5J-ZtLqbtJfgu2btduLvwmi3QqgyjXlDifdcxbXuM0csspVwBVhsKD6CEUI03f5NYrQuF1t_GUoJyenz3GVljaT3TGSpvkvGTguHx1KURBekuu6sbMLq6QotuYwNyeTd5rkfQhZA/" width="320" /></a></div><br /><br /><p></p><p><br /></p><p>The film begins with a little wrestling because that's what you'd expect to find in a Scottish sword movie and because why not. Suddenly, a sword fight breaks out in a parking garage with sweeping crane shots, backflips, and a sword fighter artfully reflected in silver Ray-Ban sunglasses, and you're going to be hard-pressed to find something more quintessentially 80s than that. </p><p><br /></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbiJU6B6NgU8cpw6PCxXCxRWwxzl8oEBk7CnSAZZwUUsIUJchNN-EX-DV0SljXUHC3v-hDImqjGMELxdibrTjdtJc6b8QJ3X95AZwTc9znmci9unoPiqoKMca8nB4C940gz5aGYNZcNQ/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="602" data-original-width="1280" height="151" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbiJU6B6NgU8cpw6PCxXCxRWwxzl8oEBk7CnSAZZwUUsIUJchNN-EX-DV0SljXUHC3v-hDImqjGMELxdibrTjdtJc6b8QJ3X95AZwTc9znmci9unoPiqoKMca8nB4C940gz5aGYNZcNQ/" width="320" /></a></div><br /><br /><p></p><p>Someone wears a skull headdress and a kilt, and I totally would have worn that when I saw A-ha on their Hunting High And Low Tour in 1986, when I wore a floor-length black trench coat.</p><p><br /></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWqTutPUBgjRGlI-v7u5Kzhl49v5rox5ZXyDRBOwCpz2i_wolKH4M92adQpejJUcwTN0naE4pS0BP7KQSwBZXTQYClbxlFE5bCFVl_5aRT8K4FvCthPRVDHgf_qTkhQOjL26hbeTDWLQ/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="163" data-original-width="310" height="168" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWqTutPUBgjRGlI-v7u5Kzhl49v5rox5ZXyDRBOwCpz2i_wolKH4M92adQpejJUcwTN0naE4pS0BP7KQSwBZXTQYClbxlFE5bCFVl_5aRT8K4FvCthPRVDHgf_qTkhQOjL26hbeTDWLQ/" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>In a sea of pastel Benetton cable-knit sweaters, even Morten Harket looked upon me disapprovingly.</i></div> <p></p><p>Suddenly, someone is seen running down an alley with stream escaping from pipes, which means there may have been some sort of plumber shortage during the 80s since this was such a common occurrence. Speaking of common occurrences, someone turns abruptly and dramatically looks at the camera, and there's a shot of just their eyes. </p><p><br /></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYH21svhUOIxrVai2Art3l8oLegt0_K0noKzTA5JZASaNxj1BBKcQKo4zsfsb0jfUUlmj7LhfcXFXPV5-rEe7ar-hbW-2L32vUQgG7dIDoZf1z5MGxMPLHbEzU0P_Sk6m2XI-ybAK8VQ/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="436" data-original-width="1322" height="106" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYH21svhUOIxrVai2Art3l8oLegt0_K0noKzTA5JZASaNxj1BBKcQKo4zsfsb0jfUUlmj7LhfcXFXPV5-rEe7ar-hbW-2L32vUQgG7dIDoZf1z5MGxMPLHbEzU0P_Sk6m2XI-ybAK8VQ/" width="320" /></a></div><i>Signature move</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-style: italic;"><br /></span></div><p>I'm not sure where this film actually takes place, but it's the most amazing location, because everywhere you go during the present day, you hear Queen, and everywhere you go in the past, it looks like the Safety Dance. </p><p><br /></p><p style="text-align: center;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTTmMTSo0xgNdvCbVuSvHL4uHSgvtOaAT7G0RigWMKHt6QiL0HdHQREU8tQkDf8CNUjdkNxbhv4X9sEEcPSPgX8-qTAAelh6Omt7sto2wOQEyGqDm3phstRwVC2JN642o3ILHgLEKC6g/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="360" data-original-width="480" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTTmMTSo0xgNdvCbVuSvHL4uHSgvtOaAT7G0RigWMKHt6QiL0HdHQREU8tQkDf8CNUjdkNxbhv4X9sEEcPSPgX8-qTAAelh6Omt7sto2wOQEyGqDm3phstRwVC2JN642o3ILHgLEKC6g/" width="320" /></a></div><i><div style="text-align: center;"><i>Signature move</i></div></i><p></p><p><br /></p><p>Sean Connery arrives dressed in peacock feathers claiming to be from Spain, and his accent makes that seem unlikely. Then he rows a boat and says, "Haggis? What is haggis?".</p><p><br /></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZeuaIrim4c00c69xJpV6B841PdUCAOoBfwrwQCGUxzemSlB7kJazVxaZ6OlJbyXzMDIOEADvPRT6dbNwktlaG5YmSaBCLHlQOGc491Eyu2ij2IjIv1eaZEEVt1_-v2xKDP-oZYo5bbg/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="177" data-original-width="284" height="199" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZeuaIrim4c00c69xJpV6B841PdUCAOoBfwrwQCGUxzemSlB7kJazVxaZ6OlJbyXzMDIOEADvPRT6dbNwktlaG5YmSaBCLHlQOGc491Eyu2ij2IjIv1eaZEEVt1_-v2xKDP-oZYo5bbg/" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>Codpiece? What is codpiece?</i></div><br /><p></p><p>You know, we're a little too early in the review for a codpiece joke. </p><p><br /></p><p style="text-align: center;"><iframe allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/08M-9kHB_20" title="YouTube video player" width="560"></iframe></p><p style="text-align: left;"><br /></p><p style="text-align: left;">Sean Connery wears a red outfit with puffy sleeves, claims he's Egyptian, and sings a song while wearing a codpiece. All this seems very unlikely. Speaking of unlikely, I searched high and low (a ha!) over the internet for "Sean Connery Highlander Codpiece", and there seems to be a lack of images, and that's surprising because it's so conspicuous it probably had its own trailer. </p><p style="text-align: left;"><br /></p><p style="text-align: left;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdypHh3oCnw3UFpuu1JS1oUAZNi1dN-ymbyjtQ63c6nZeC4Ku2mKKCGcwglpI6OP0Fc3eavarCnb2bJthpikpLizoY1LBQtxT3wFWgUwsgOdFTn_ijBM9cFJvbuRb6-vasVY4v8QeJdQ/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1050" data-original-width="654" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdypHh3oCnw3UFpuu1JS1oUAZNi1dN-ymbyjtQ63c6nZeC4Ku2mKKCGcwglpI6OP0Fc3eavarCnb2bJthpikpLizoY1LBQtxT3wFWgUwsgOdFTn_ijBM9cFJvbuRb6-vasVY4v8QeJdQ/" width="149" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>Looks like he's smuggling a spiral cut ham</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><br /></i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><br /></i></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><iframe allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/T15J5pnqukE" title="YouTube video player" width="560"></iframe></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Come to think of it, "Connery Codpiece Trailer" sounds like a 1990s indie band that has a hammered dulcimer player.</div><br /><p></p><p style="text-align: center;"><iframe allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/QUrIDz6L5vc" title="YouTube video player" width="560"></iframe></p><p><br /></p><p>Suddenly, there's a sword fight that destroys a castle because of course there is.</p><p>A bag of Nacho Cheese Doritos makes an appearance, and it's pretty infuriating because I'm off cheese. Apparently, a vintage bag of Nacho Flavored Doritos was on sale on E-bay for $400. There were no chips in it, so I don't see the appeal. The Nacho Cheese Doritos are pretty good, but the Taco Flavored Doritos are my favorite. Speaking of unlikely things, I once had a lengthy discussion with a stranger about Taco Flavored Doritos in the snack aisle at Target because the stranger claimed they were very hard to find, but I pointed at the bag and said, "They're not hard to find, they're right there", and Mrs. Deathrage wandered away in disgust and said she "Didn't want to be indoctrinated into my weird Dorito cult". </p><p>If anyone would like to be indoctrinated into my Weird Dorito Cult™, just Venmo me $5 and you're in.</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLsgLmhzul9Db6AiFd6InDwGH9n3E-UW6GC1PbTZj2RMBEDQCgX4isT5Mbqu0uWMLPReru4Jx6SOT9cJ0bDNwpCFa4VaL6xw4iheh04gLF_TTOHYMLpD66jUjjzIapTnus1GlfY24CKw/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="274" data-original-width="184" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLsgLmhzul9Db6AiFd6InDwGH9n3E-UW6GC1PbTZj2RMBEDQCgX4isT5Mbqu0uWMLPReru4Jx6SOT9cJ0bDNwpCFa4VaL6xw4iheh04gLF_TTOHYMLpD66jUjjzIapTnus1GlfY24CKw/" width="161" /></a></div><br /><br /><p></p><p><br /></p><p style="text-align: center;"><br /></p><p><br /></p><p>During a sword fight in another smoky alleyway, there's a sudden machine-gun battle, and all the dancers from Love Is A Battlefield appear.</p><p><br /></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMvyrDCO-fBqv5kaYoMuYa6U0fp_W3Plab5-TZZLs3BCEyDnXfpxJeiRtVCXp5w97EPAWOP35uWAEpZ62CMh27yyCXhxDv6QuhMZhATRqJPyw4Ho0tnKPbw0vlTKtCpcr6G-xZzJMIbw/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="194" data-original-width="259" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMvyrDCO-fBqv5kaYoMuYa6U0fp_W3Plab5-TZZLs3BCEyDnXfpxJeiRtVCXp5w97EPAWOP35uWAEpZ62CMh27yyCXhxDv6QuhMZhATRqJPyw4Ho0tnKPbw0vlTKtCpcr6G-xZzJMIbw/" width="320" /></a></div><br /><br /><p></p><p>OK, OK. Even I have to admit that I've wandered far afield on this one if I'm bringing up Love Is A Battlefield. Russell Mulcahy didn't even direct it, and Pat Benatar was never part of the New Romantic movement. I've written myself into a very vague and stylish corner. So, I think what this situation calls for is a video of four minutes of a loop of a man dressed in a Peirrot outfit dancing to Planet Earth by Duran Duran, you know, as a distraction. </p><p><br /></p><p style="text-align: center;"><iframe allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/xGkg39TbKZ8" title="YouTube video player" width="560"></iframe></p><p><br /></p><p>Now that's over, back to the movie. There are trench coats, Miami Vice suits, outlandish earrings, pleated pants, shoulder pads, ludicrously placed zippers, burlap, leather jackets, high waisted jeans, and safety pins.</p><p style="text-align: center;"><iframe allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/Q_WCU_oxIiA" title="YouTube video player" width="560"></iframe></p><p><br /></p><p>There's also gratuitous pyrotechnics and people slowly rising up out of the water. </p><p><br /></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbs1_tvXmZuKOe-P3q1IIWTVH4NpwrVViE5TDGpgW89cmwlO5l44p-r8eTC70oeLBBKyrr6ukdAtnpccMnd0BmpR2L7wXvcd8vmWwEYvcBwyUByHlRtmh40ow1wdcegrUl-wLZrhCYkg/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="636" data-original-width="1262" height="161" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbs1_tvXmZuKOe-P3q1IIWTVH4NpwrVViE5TDGpgW89cmwlO5l44p-r8eTC70oeLBBKyrr6ukdAtnpccMnd0BmpR2L7wXvcd8vmWwEYvcBwyUByHlRtmh40ow1wdcegrUl-wLZrhCYkg/" width="320" /></a></div><i>Signature move</i><br /><br /></div><br />There's also swords that go "Whoosh", kilts, beheadings, Linn Drum, and Fairlight, and I've rambled on long enough. I'm not going down the Fairlight rabbit hole.<br /><p><br /></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnFhoiboq10Wx14Y0bLVC02AMUz0hmrF4TEl1CJ6V5Bsh7aIU8VdIMhl-UdlWyK3GE7dLQ7HOXaL3LVATJ1tnxSdBS4YJZzJS7Zm9JwPOPnvRzyr4R09GEyoPEWmuoP0OPiEs_Edi1dw/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="612" data-original-width="612" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnFhoiboq10Wx14Y0bLVC02AMUz0hmrF4TEl1CJ6V5Bsh7aIU8VdIMhl-UdlWyK3GE7dLQ7HOXaL3LVATJ1tnxSdBS4YJZzJS7Zm9JwPOPnvRzyr4R09GEyoPEWmuoP0OPiEs_Edi1dw/" width="240" /></a></div><br /><br /><p></p><p style="text-align: left;">Thanks again to Gill for allowing me to participate in the No True Scotsman Blogathon, since this might be the last one she allows me to participate in after this since I haven't mentioned Christopher Lambert once. His accent is just terrible.</p><p><br /></p><div style="text-align: center;"><iframe allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/TqFoiM0zxdY" title="YouTube video player" width="560"></iframe></div>Stabford Deathragehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15924313514441970164noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7758970191041214638.post-2334673293090244232021-05-22T06:44:00.001-07:002021-05-22T06:44:47.261-07:00Hercules in the Haunted World<p> </p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqSuEDVer-aD90LPEIM18CiBhd6_BKjoDvpl3n8xogcHBNl7MWsPfoOWXymS4POT3ZqUhldtzmMJXmOFiOfmC1OacEhmmAwVfydQOQXkyKlIU_8HiqX2pSxt8k89wLYx_j0VpVAF-U3w/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="425" data-original-width="600" height="227" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqSuEDVer-aD90LPEIM18CiBhd6_BKjoDvpl3n8xogcHBNl7MWsPfoOWXymS4POT3ZqUhldtzmMJXmOFiOfmC1OacEhmmAwVfydQOQXkyKlIU_8HiqX2pSxt8k89wLYx_j0VpVAF-U3w/" width="320" /></a></div><br />Many thanks to Cinematic Catharsis and Realweegiemidget Reviews for inviting me to the Christopher Lee Blogathon. I feel as though I'm really in my element with this blogathon, reviewing a partially-dubbed widescreen sword-&-sandals sort-of-zombie-vampire film where a movie legend appears for about ten whole minutes. That's totally right up my alley! <p></p><p>Speaking of being right in my element, I might have mentioned that I recently had a mid-life career change. Everything about my career is completely different. I used to stand on my feet all day, stay up way too late, and be extremely cool. Now I sit all day, get up very early, and I'm still extremely cool, but no one appreciates it, and I'm certainly not getting paid for that. I can no longer just skate by on style, sarcasm, withering glares, quirk, and stoicism. I'm now licensed to ACTUALLY KNOW THINGS. Not that I'm complaining. I needed to try something different and learn new skills, and I don't miss my old career in the slightest. </p><p>By the way, Happy World Goth Day to everyone! I'm listening to Bauhaus in celebration. Disclaimer, I've never really been cool, except for a two-week period in 1986, but the bar was set pretty low considering it was 1986.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/ElR-dFZMIlk" width="320" youtube-src-id="ElR-dFZMIlk"></iframe></div><br /><p><br /></p><p>Speaking of getting up very early, since I now sit at a desk with my big ol' knowing-things brain for 8 hours a day, I've gotten into the habit of rising at dawn and running through the Alps. No, it's not actually the Alps. I've been getting on the NordicTrack and watching a video some dude walking through the Alps while I jog and sweat for about 20 minutes. Sometimes if I'm feeling a little spicy, I'll watch a guy walk through a haunted house while I jog and sweat for about 20 minutes, because isn't that exactly what a video treadmill is good for?</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/KZkwwRrWvJ4" width="320" youtube-src-id="KZkwwRrWvJ4"></iframe></div><br /><p>This new found health regimen has had one unfortunate side effect. I might be imagining it, but I'm pretty sure that my calves have become more muscular than my thighs, resulting in my legs looking suspiciously similar to Popeye's arms. </p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-9ANSgrurXpv9_rdgFi9WLJ2e5O3SPbMivez-GerQiPbSFsC003_onPJFjL47qoIEyE6xtR9VV_-BAamvr9sHtE8REX_v1R4_oJB_IbPEoCQrdaKnqgEKpbstyrfp9dcJWIIzMGNv9A/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="227" data-original-width="222" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-9ANSgrurXpv9_rdgFi9WLJ2e5O3SPbMivez-GerQiPbSFsC003_onPJFjL47qoIEyE6xtR9VV_-BAamvr9sHtE8REX_v1R4_oJB_IbPEoCQrdaKnqgEKpbstyrfp9dcJWIIzMGNv9A/" width="235" /></a></div><br />Well, I could sit here and talk about 15% incline Swiss hikes, unintentional body building, and spinach all day, but let's get on the the movie review.<p></p><p><br /></p><p style="text-align: center;"><b><i><u><span style="font-size: large;">Hercules In The Haunted World</span></u></i></b></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhorIjOULzvJgWNQOOpMPgdIqTGVE6z393h8bEnwhw4p0Rh2wz6NgMbj1-1CV5apGlgSNeUpg90BoNgTuC4n6wj0fHIx3qWRmD40U932exrCWCdfw82ifm9QTIU8BXEF3iFQiZG84CUWg/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="275" data-original-width="183" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhorIjOULzvJgWNQOOpMPgdIqTGVE6z393h8bEnwhw4p0Rh2wz6NgMbj1-1CV5apGlgSNeUpg90BoNgTuC4n6wj0fHIx3qWRmD40U932exrCWCdfw82ifm9QTIU8BXEF3iFQiZG84CUWg/" width="160" /></a></div><br /><br /><p></p><p>After a roll in the hay, Hercules' friend pushes his girlfriend in the river. Hercules throws a huge cart and destroys a hay-bearing structure, then there's mournful oboe. I'm not sure why there's so much hay and oboe.</p><p>While bathed in rich, colorful lights (which is a remarkable feat for thousands of years ago), Christopher Lee tricks a guy into getting stabbed over a tiara in a strange underground temple. He glares and looks generally bad-ass. GOALS.</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiZUjcW6sFe5h-T8Yvw-zPpBr6mxdSrHqjkYKRxCkET6L_WRNu_x1PQ7I_VzwUlxDEIWyXY6h7Z4I7YakYILmJndwhIcvqUOsep54iIjUhOZJQ1FQ7_QVHKegKcSVNnGIg0KX0-aAHeA/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="148" data-original-width="341" height="139" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiZUjcW6sFe5h-T8Yvw-zPpBr6mxdSrHqjkYKRxCkET6L_WRNu_x1PQ7I_VzwUlxDEIWyXY6h7Z4I7YakYILmJndwhIcvqUOsep54iIjUhOZJQ1FQ7_QVHKegKcSVNnGIg0KX0-aAHeA/" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>SAME. Hey, I might get one of these outfits for myself and wear it to work.</i></div><br /><p></p><p>Suddenly, some guy walks up behind Hercules and calls him Achilles as if he hadn't read the script, or maybe he just sort of wandered in from a different shorty-toga movie and got lost. </p><p>Hercules' boat travels through an otherworldly realm that is lit by a sinister red glow, and it reminds me of a completely different candy-colored boat ride, only this one is actually exciting and has a catchy tune.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/ouAfLc-Sm2M" width="320" youtube-src-id="ouAfLc-Sm2M"></iframe></div><br /><p>Suddenly, Hercules throws a giant rock to get a magic apple out of the very top of a dead tree, which is often where magical, mythical fruit grows. </p><p>Suddenly, a rock monster appears. </p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQpCt0X5ZzIyAkJVCLyegf_bP31nd5cijSoAKE_XGsSKhnp-yYuTKd2xUFprPE-sNBzpw-0NMwNaIyqoTFuNZEaRInlndqA4Xv82J-0zbLNob3FtJHpFS6Lc-yi3ISKbAZVu4xSGoyRA/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="149" data-original-width="338" height="141" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQpCt0X5ZzIyAkJVCLyegf_bP31nd5cijSoAKE_XGsSKhnp-yYuTKd2xUFprPE-sNBzpw-0NMwNaIyqoTFuNZEaRInlndqA4Xv82J-0zbLNob3FtJHpFS6Lc-yi3ISKbAZVu4xSGoyRA/" width="320" /></a></div><br />It's not very interesting.<p></p><p>Suddenly, Hercules says, "Stop, it's a trap!", and I'm surprised he hadn't realized this whole trip smacks of being a set-up a little earlier.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/4F4qzPbcFiA" width="320" youtube-src-id="4F4qzPbcFiA"></iframe></div><br /><p></p><p>Suddenly, Hercules goes for a weird, one-armed swim, then he wanders through moaning wicker and climbs over difficult lava. Then Hercules' friend falls into the lava, which has the consistency of chunky soup.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/6NOkaVoPUss" width="320" youtube-src-id="6NOkaVoPUss"></iframe></div><br /><p>After nearly an hour of screen time, Christopher Lee reappears.</p><p><br /></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYzOob0dGkHBkqnXVTjJxGDMA-Ff7XlnYmWu802n2eb14u7wzFyhD9C7RQq1GfJDuAp_7g3KkJrQXC0QdnJU125eUgM_F_D2JnKErJMpThNQHHBm6h1nIArTGzU9DixMtAD6bLIbHU6w/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="148" data-original-width="341" height="139" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYzOob0dGkHBkqnXVTjJxGDMA-Ff7XlnYmWu802n2eb14u7wzFyhD9C7RQq1GfJDuAp_7g3KkJrQXC0QdnJU125eUgM_F_D2JnKErJMpThNQHHBm6h1nIArTGzU9DixMtAD6bLIbHU6w/" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-style: italic;">My dude, I KNOW. *starts online shopping for cloaks*</span></div><br /><p></p><p>I neglected to mention the masked oracle by a pool. Well, I mentioned it, so you can get off my back about it. </p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDkWuxKNIyhIeyn02QGNtnVLtBNYkmPTWsTgQWHD7z8rTrlu-jZ0croCgikewUa0PjoAH8E8OlsT_nO9d7y8BsubEzcZ53G8pYV72Q4IZxjpxsouCPlbucQBcFmmaXwiYH_1SrvTgzGQ/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="149" data-original-width="337" height="141" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDkWuxKNIyhIeyn02QGNtnVLtBNYkmPTWsTgQWHD7z8rTrlu-jZ0croCgikewUa0PjoAH8E8OlsT_nO9d7y8BsubEzcZ53G8pYV72Q4IZxjpxsouCPlbucQBcFmmaXwiYH_1SrvTgzGQ/" width="320" /></a></div><br /><br /><p></p><p>Some much-needed vague vampirism finally occurs around the 1:07 mark, when Christopher Lee's face is reflected in a pool of blood, which wasn't half bad, really. Zombie-like hands burst forth from their graves and crypts for some reason, and wraiths suspended by strings levitate and swoop past the camera amidst crashing cymbals. Since it's kind of interesting, it only happens for about ten minutes.</p><p>Suddenly, Christopher Lee gets thrown by Hercules, then Christopher Lee stabs Hercules with a skeleton hand. On a scale of one-to-ten, I'll give it 5 Dave Vanians, 4 Peter Murphys, and throw in 4 Siouxsie Siouxs for good measure. </p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXU4NPDMOS_lnJ1ZbqtN1lJv4iNz1wfIMOIw5NfEr_ol2YOs_a66ZMkJaemKU39_jsA4NYXxG_kbxhU3Rm1a2KD-80EFBIxXlp9af9YfqtoeBasLJBQUhLVDSTu0faejTVBexovIeV7g/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="373" data-original-width="660" height="181" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXU4NPDMOS_lnJ1ZbqtN1lJv4iNz1wfIMOIw5NfEr_ol2YOs_a66ZMkJaemKU39_jsA4NYXxG_kbxhU3Rm1a2KD-80EFBIxXlp9af9YfqtoeBasLJBQUhLVDSTu0faejTVBexovIeV7g/" width="320" /></a><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/8aeWKX2PZ_s" width="320" youtube-src-id="8aeWKX2PZ_s"></iframe></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/JnJQ3ejZ3X8" width="320" youtube-src-id="JnJQ3ejZ3X8"></iframe></div><br /></div><br /><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/TjvvK-Rj0WI" width="320" youtube-src-id="TjvvK-Rj0WI"></iframe></div><br /><p>It's my policy to not post spoilers about the ending of the movie. I'm going to break that rule, because your viewing experience can only be enhanced by Christopher Lee bursting into flame. It's pretty sweet, unexpected, and not thoroughly explained. </p><p>Many times during my viewing of Hercules in the Haunted World, I imagined what it might have been like watching the vivid colors of the adventures of Herc and friends on a massive drive-in theater screen. Many times, I also nodded off, because 5 a.m Swiss jogs and stupefying leather toga'd boredom.</p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/26pQNKEOXjo" width="320" youtube-src-id="26pQNKEOXjo"></iframe></div><br /><p>Hercules in the Haunted World features lots of scenes of toga'd individuals standing around talking and lots of hay. Hercules throws a bunch of stuff. There's a weird Goldilocks conflict over bed sizes featuring a rubber-suited rock monster. Hercules is only in the haunted realm for about 15 minutes, and Christopher Lee barely appears. The lighting is fabulous, though.</p><p><br /></p>
<div style="text-align: center;"><iframe allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/2zFEt2i0ATQ" title="YouTube video player" width="560"></iframe></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Thanks again to Barry and Gill for inviting me to the blogathon!</div>Stabford Deathragehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15924313514441970164noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7758970191041214638.post-37202842221211381742021-03-08T10:16:00.000-08:002021-03-08T10:16:37.161-08:00Wild Women Of Chastity Gulch<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJiQxcvXxJIis9-3j6ntHCV05KkSpEn2FhtrqsOYV8DpGeBfxJI3r91SQk0cipbJ7vQl7LmXYPbfqLifLplAXSwOylI0Qmg5i4hEcsVvg6rSbVJBawpg8j_FfxIGHkBRE8JF5nPH37Cw/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="400" data-original-width="700" height="183" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJiQxcvXxJIis9-3j6ntHCV05KkSpEn2FhtrqsOYV8DpGeBfxJI3r91SQk0cipbJ7vQl7LmXYPbfqLifLplAXSwOylI0Qmg5i4hEcsVvg6rSbVJBawpg8j_FfxIGHkBRE8JF5nPH37Cw/" width="320" /></a></div><br />I'd like to begin this post by thanking <a href="https://weegiemidget.wordpress.com/2021/01/02/joan-collins-blogathon/" target="_blank">RealweegieMidget Reviews</a> for inviting me to this blogathon. Even though I have very little knowledge of the career of Joan Collins and I often completely disregard the movie I'm reviewing anyway, it's always nice to be included. And with every one of my blogathon blogposts, I'm convinced this will be the last one anyone invites me to. So thanks again, and let's get this wagon train a-rollin'.<p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqByqIzyVjky2SHGUn1WCKsphmMhPNcj4_FDq0cA3nCXmMdpUgI1EFQq0uYHyd_RYULrPK-I-oSqUdyQnO-Cc-98-q28EEJfGuhFd9Uo-m8_MGcsrhAwP2I5CRKLrnAtXMdStD37u_EA/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="290" data-original-width="344" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqByqIzyVjky2SHGUn1WCKsphmMhPNcj4_FDq0cA3nCXmMdpUgI1EFQq0uYHyd_RYULrPK-I-oSqUdyQnO-Cc-98-q28EEJfGuhFd9Uo-m8_MGcsrhAwP2I5CRKLrnAtXMdStD37u_EA/" width="285" /></a></div><br /><p></p><h1 style="text-align: center;"><i><u>The Wild Women Of Chastity Gulch</u></i></h1><div>Ok, before we get to the review, let me explain a few things, because this wouldn't be a Stabford review without a couple of ducks, dodges, parries, and turns before I get really, really off-track.</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/8cuihrjLNAo" width="320" youtube-src-id="8cuihrjLNAo"></iframe></div><br /><div>At the beginning of 2021, IRL I decided to quit my job of 15 years and start in a completely new industry which requires licensing and lots and lots of studying. As usual, even though I knew about the blogathon for months, I was unable to watch the movie until a few minutes before the blogathon was supposed to begin. I also came to the unexpected realization that the entire film is unavailable for streaming, and only 30 minutes of it is anywhere, and it's a dreadful VHS rip, with atrocious image quality and tracking lines and image rolling. That certainly didn't stop me from enjoying the movie thoroughly in an it's-so-bad-it's-good kind of way because if you're going to watch something awful, you might as well pull out all the stops, hold your nose and jump in, and that's just how I roll.</div><div><br /></div><div>So back to the review.</div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><h1><i><u>The Wild Women Of Chastity Gulch</u></i></h1><div><u><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-style: italic; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjr_s0qkpFnIktrqbClGqgVkk_z1d28YLKPfG38LF2vtFbw6zo_Ox4UiKm6ii7IlJaHqp1JC3xSDG98uElnFVuP0bEY4z82Ycm921izVv4W4gnnMRHpVe6Fn7pwDGiQKGiUQ8WYbp7huA/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="185" data-original-width="272" height="218" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjr_s0qkpFnIktrqbClGqgVkk_z1d28YLKPfG38LF2vtFbw6zo_Ox4UiKm6ii7IlJaHqp1JC3xSDG98uElnFVuP0bEY4z82Ycm921izVv4W4gnnMRHpVe6Fn7pwDGiQKGiUQ8WYbp7huA/" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-style: italic; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiLegoW4t4AYZ6XhIr_CFYeAD3RdG3AoVVezQEv_SYyuzqGAOfC-MAGrz24v57ijtW-pjJg20L8tLpMImsoA8zayCEe-lBOK7l1NrR9ZpeUZ4nw-c7EKVGirwnaeDDZk82AnFEYeLExw/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="168" data-original-width="300" height="179" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiLegoW4t4AYZ6XhIr_CFYeAD3RdG3AoVVezQEv_SYyuzqGAOfC-MAGrz24v57ijtW-pjJg20L8tLpMImsoA8zayCEe-lBOK7l1NrR9ZpeUZ4nw-c7EKVGirwnaeDDZk82AnFEYeLExw/" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div></u></div></div><div>So, like I said a minute ago, I only watched 30 minutes of the film, which is one of those early-80s Aaron Spelling Sunday Night TV-movies, and the fact it's an Aaron Spelling Production is probably the only reason it was made and broadcast at all, since from what I can tell The Wild Women Of Chastity Gulch's plot consists of only a lurid title, extravagantly frilly gowns, and cleavage.</div><div><br /></div><div>The setting of the film is a town in either Civil War-era Missouri or an amusement park in Southern California I guess, and all the menfolk are off fighting in the war, leaving the town empty except for about two dozen working ladies in the town's brothel and inexplicably, Donny Osmond. </div><div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/iXcj8dFOd1E" width="320" youtube-src-id="iXcj8dFOd1E"></iframe></div><br /></div><p>In the brief clip I watched, the movie opens with poor Joan Collins catching a terminal case of vague heart-related death. Immaculately costumed, hair and purple eyeshadow on point, Joan Collins looks fantastic for someone wasting away, which I certainly can find no fault in. When I kick the bucket, at my funeral I'll need video screens, lasers, a backdrop, a DJ, and one of those grocery store "all occasion" cakes with huge, blue frosting roses on it where a touching and sentimental reminiscence about my life is written on it in gorgeous script. </p><p> </p><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px;"><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeURUDrP5a7nNcTNS5IKrLylnwjTFYkiWyDcmK6iODG2f9XI2xZroj1yBfY4eQr8Ve5m6Nly_ak80NKB2oTAbf-mGNvV6azPNkEmxTZAQGhMOokcO4EYws2AK7cTxlMEX_9pJZjaG-qA/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="194" data-original-width="259" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeURUDrP5a7nNcTNS5IKrLylnwjTFYkiWyDcmK6iODG2f9XI2xZroj1yBfY4eQr8Ve5m6Nly_ak80NKB2oTAbf-mGNvV6azPNkEmxTZAQGhMOokcO4EYws2AK7cTxlMEX_9pJZjaG-qA/" width="320" /></a></div><p></p></blockquote><p style="text-align: center;"><i>Me too, cake. Me too.</i> </p><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px;"><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><p></p></blockquote><p>So, speaking of fatigued cakes, Joan Collins breathily asks for a gin from her vaguely germanic caretaker, which reminds me of an unrelated Teutonic Titwillow. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/-05BWHilRBA" width="320" youtube-src-id="-05BWHilRBA"></iframe></div><br /><p>Then Joan Collins looks longingly into a hand mirror before expiring offscreen, and someone says, "Her heart gave out on her, Betsy. She's dead.", and I totally get it. I'm gonna check my look before checking out, too. I absolutely refuse to go gentle into that good night without looking my very best, although I might swoon on a chaise lounge for effect.</p><p>Joan's very watchable, and I almost wish I could've seen more of her performance, but that would probably mean watching more of this movie, which plays like a low-budget Aaron Spelling Production of Donny and Marie's (minus Marie) Matt Houston's Gone With The Wind, and wow, that's sounds unappealing, and it was appalling to type out in words.</p><p>Speaking of Donny and Marie, some more movie happens although I kind of wished it wouldn't, and suddenly Donny Osmond plays a wounded soldier being nursed back to health in the brothel. He gives a breathy, dramatic performance that bewilders and has a chaste kiss with Blair from Facts Of Life. </p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/g71wHiaiY6Q" width="320" youtube-src-id="g71wHiaiY6Q"></iframe></div><p>If you've been wondering why Donny Osmond never got more dramatic roles, this movie might be the reason. </p><p></p><p>Speaking of the movie, more of it happens, unfortunately. The livery stable burns, pistols are pulled from décolletage, there's some target practice in ruffled gowns to stretch for time, and soldiers look off pensively into the distance. The print I watched stuttered and skipped during a key scene which culminated in Three's Company's Priscilla Barnes throwing her body across the freshly dug grave of Joan Collins' character, and it honestly couldn't have been more perfect. </p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBlw1jKMFNuCYrsDoFOFxAUO4DZqDx8G6wZb0I6kRA__rcRbuyVtL0iXGvDZU52uTNO4RFoPiRCKojtJatVgSK2HH3zI_EgGrbrcaqJmiezzQfT2riQuRixfilkEKYzHPmUw4DrePpiA/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="648" data-original-width="802" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBlw1jKMFNuCYrsDoFOFxAUO4DZqDx8G6wZb0I6kRA__rcRbuyVtL0iXGvDZU52uTNO4RFoPiRCKojtJatVgSK2HH3zI_EgGrbrcaqJmiezzQfT2riQuRixfilkEKYzHPmUw4DrePpiA/" width="297" /></a></div><p style="text-align: center;"><i>I don't blame you one bit, Priscilla Barnes. Not one bit.</i></p><br />The sets look a lot like Knott's Berry Farm, and the music sounds like what would happen if Charlie's Angels was set in Gettysburg. Speaking of Knott's Berry Farm, there's a not-quite-thrilling action sequence with cowboys falling off horses, soldiers being dragged by horses, and horses jumping over wagons with pistol-packin' Old West prostitutes cowering under them, and let's just say it all seemed a little less than genuine. <p></p><p>Speaking of something being a little bit country and a little bit rock-n-roll, this bit needs another Donny and Marie clip. If there's anything people clamor for in their movie reviews of Joan Collins, if it isn't Donny and Marie, then I don't know what. Do we have another clip? Oh yes. Yes we do.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/TZ741_VwxEs" width="320" youtube-src-id="TZ741_VwxEs"></iframe></div><p>Like I said, in the print I watched, Joan Collins is in the movie for 30 seconds. That's ok, sometimes actors can make a huge impact in a very brief appearance, like that time on Will and Grace when Joan Collins stuffed tacos in her face and was covered in guacamole.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/qnJumP_cYSs" width="320" youtube-src-id="qnJumP_cYSs"></iframe></div><br /><p>It takes a lot of bravery to go against type and allow yourself to be seen outside an image of glamour and sophistication for laughs, so this appearance in Will and Grace always stuck with me. </p><p>Anyway, The Wild Women Of Chastity Gulch was hardly wild. It was filled with horses, transient southern accents, and plunging necklines, and it should be avoided. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/uOV6FsCEr_Q" width="320" youtube-src-id="uOV6FsCEr_Q"></iframe></div><br /><p>Thanks again to RealweegieMidget Reviews for allowing me to participate in the Joan Collins Blogathon!</p>Looking forward to the next one!<div><br /></div><div><br /><div><br /></div><div>I've got a few videos over at Youtube through Cultured Vultures if you like these sorts of reviews, so check 'em out if you want.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdhnNdp-0bJ5dhj7owfheWE1kat-LSM0-3ZjoeI0MfqcBi4OhgwqUP30yhrLslJof_10Isa3vmkFuWItM44YjPsy9wEd3P3vj2t1_6OFsqlysqFwy_EcyWGcoFJpj1R8BcBSNgfQYtjQ/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="398" data-original-width="708" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdhnNdp-0bJ5dhj7owfheWE1kat-LSM0-3ZjoeI0MfqcBi4OhgwqUP30yhrLslJof_10Isa3vmkFuWItM44YjPsy9wEd3P3vj2t1_6OFsqlysqFwy_EcyWGcoFJpj1R8BcBSNgfQYtjQ/" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-80kaPhGj8U" style="text-align: left;">https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-80kaPhGj8U</a></div></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div></div>Stabford Deathragehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15924313514441970164noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7758970191041214638.post-50797896630462350922021-01-29T09:53:00.002-08:002021-01-29T09:57:30.255-08:00The Amityville Horror (1979)<p> </p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0z6gm5h52N3FwC7UNancz5z-l6mGYyasY8M4CrHc-zFTq7-wrwQBSHSKIaYHiFNkKlJK94qX2bHob9iy1mI47EAfYAli7tnT3nYST5cPY8M7oP92_pWlXczaJj0BySh2_1VF7zGTkiA/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="628" data-original-width="1200" height="167" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0z6gm5h52N3FwC7UNancz5z-l6mGYyasY8M4CrHc-zFTq7-wrwQBSHSKIaYHiFNkKlJK94qX2bHob9iy1mI47EAfYAli7tnT3nYST5cPY8M7oP92_pWlXczaJj0BySh2_1VF7zGTkiA/" width="320" /></a></div><br /><br /></div>As always, I'm honored and thrilled to be invited again to participate in Realweegiemidget's blogathons, and amazed that I'm allowed to since I rarely follow the rules and have a chronic tardiness problem. These blogathons are fun and interesting, which again makes me wonder why I'm allowed to participate because I'm neither fun nor interesting, and I ramble on barely acknowledging the film I'm supposed to review. But what's done is done, no-take-backs, so everyone will just have to suffer through my post. Thanks to Realweegiemidget, and away we go!<p></p><h2 style="text-align: center;"> <i><u>The Amityville Horror</u></i></h2><div><i><u><br /></u></i></div><div><i><u><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpvRAAr7hgP5XS7EbmV4aRi0PK1VNxzMCYBZwSoy7avwGcEBrN1cK641N2jjkrrVLRpaLxmPMAN_WeOERcwHwcJQsgcKP28meZeBS4TW58ohhQAszu_NxisWxpHlHOBoedVS0AHhI3bg/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="220" data-original-width="229" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpvRAAr7hgP5XS7EbmV4aRi0PK1VNxzMCYBZwSoy7avwGcEBrN1cK641N2jjkrrVLRpaLxmPMAN_WeOERcwHwcJQsgcKP28meZeBS4TW58ohhQAszu_NxisWxpHlHOBoedVS0AHhI3bg/" width="250" /></a></div><br /></u></i></div><div>Oops. Someone replaced my image of the movie poster for The Amityville Horror and left this inspirational quote about home, and I think I just threw up in my mouth a little. Cheesy inspirational quotes make me feel a little nauseous. Let's try it again.</div><div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEdbXs-1m87hozWp6qXilvwojdMyav75WT6fdPx5zzFk2P1gl2yi8gfe2NNiQLjA6VUoisrhKJatD56PCmHDPNU50W0zczk6Jf7AMtK4VEYQo3fn2BiSGyUKggoqr_Ote-mkCkzd-mIA/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEdbXs-1m87hozWp6qXilvwojdMyav75WT6fdPx5zzFk2P1gl2yi8gfe2NNiQLjA6VUoisrhKJatD56PCmHDPNU50W0zczk6Jf7AMtK4VEYQo3fn2BiSGyUKggoqr_Ote-mkCkzd-mIA/" width="320" /></a></div><br />Oh no. Someone replaced my image of an inspirational quote with a rustic sign created from recycled pallets emblazoned with the inspirational quote "Live Laugh Love", and I'm feeling slightly woozy, and it certainly does not go with my personal home decor esthetic, which has been described as "dim", "cave-like", "a discount perpetual seance", and "like a morose gothic circus filled with possessed marionettes", and those quotes were from my own children. </div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibV9g2kBQ-kNelFJPSVgR49Q6kdTsMTWEd_clbqFrIVT2VYKeHgWFCrWoxtUMcyf5pWWupI6HUmht_BXG8Orl2mMGcNbA5aXPZ8GteRb64Drja1xNnwKJE8cqsmU57JTs21M202fEpYg/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="225" data-original-width="225" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibV9g2kBQ-kNelFJPSVgR49Q6kdTsMTWEd_clbqFrIVT2VYKeHgWFCrWoxtUMcyf5pWWupI6HUmht_BXG8Orl2mMGcNbA5aXPZ8GteRb64Drja1xNnwKJE8cqsmU57JTs21M202fEpYg/" width="240" /></a></div><br />Ah, that's more like it. Anyway, let's try this again.</div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><i><u><span style="font-size: large;">The Amityville Horror</span></u></i></b></div><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpHT1r2W3WKa4-0Euza7MWG3UEXYM9zmCYJDuO1jBbfHHnz76ECaDWSab7lLItwrY2P9Ky-DHaol7NF0fz7OB_NiAqbfKeHfB_OUAEPs_BXaq6avN8w9f6Q9LZLScUoyuPWolYQzpHhA/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1000" data-original-width="705" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpHT1r2W3WKa4-0Euza7MWG3UEXYM9zmCYJDuO1jBbfHHnz76ECaDWSab7lLItwrY2P9Ky-DHaol7NF0fz7OB_NiAqbfKeHfB_OUAEPs_BXaq6avN8w9f6Q9LZLScUoyuPWolYQzpHhA/" width="169" /></a></div><br />Okeedoke. So, Barbra Streisand's husband and Superman's girlfriend have either the best or worst real estate agent of all time. I mean, the real estate agent suggests that the "charming" Colonial, with 3 full bedrooms, a spacious kitchen with original hardware, 3 floors plus a basement and an attic which could be converted into a playroom, a wood-burning fireplace, a sunporch, and a cottage and boathouse, says it's "a fixer-upper that could be fun!". I have my doubts about that. Lemme break this down in excruciating detail.<p></p><p>Before we begin that bit, if you've been following my blog, and for crying out loud, why would you do such a thing? I rarely have anything nice to say. Anyway, you'll know that I recently sold Deathrage Tower and downsized, and I can feel for the poor Lutzes, because I also moved into a place that needed a bit of TLC. Now the house the Lutzes were moving into had a lot more problems than mine had. For instance, I abruptly stopped the previous owners from installing a laminate countertop and insisted they put in black granite, while the Lutzes needed to give their house a good scrub from top to bottom.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/GWFGYFPAXRM" width="320" youtube-src-id="GWFGYFPAXRM"></iframe></div><p>Far be it from me to judge, you know. It is certainly not my place to criticize the way someone keeps house, but the Lutzes need to crack open a fresh bottle of cleanser and apply a little elbow grease or a blowtorch to those grimy light switches and doorknobs. I would have pointed out every bit of grime and would not have signed off on the final walkthrough until it was spotless. </p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEid_zvZOjGr98RWtWDzpW8VDtbBh5JcTQWmfRROkcVpJ9MxerryF144vbLQmavjQGAqqr6FvLvshT4Nf6Obtn7CMg_dHKvtG1Oeke0DfPFQGt5cXACt3l_LeRMwksx0q5AEqbRhfKi1aw/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="167" data-original-width="302" height="177" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEid_zvZOjGr98RWtWDzpW8VDtbBh5JcTQWmfRROkcVpJ9MxerryF144vbLQmavjQGAqqr6FvLvshT4Nf6Obtn7CMg_dHKvtG1Oeke0DfPFQGt5cXACt3l_LeRMwksx0q5AEqbRhfKi1aw/" width="320" /></a></div><br />Seriously, would you just look at that wallpaper? Yikes. Tear it all down. And don't get me started on that wall of tacky gold-gilt mirrors in the bedroom. It could be easily painted over. Might I suggest Pantone's Colors of The Year? The gray will be a nice neutral base palette, and the yellow would lighten the atmosphere of the house and give it a touch of needed cheer. <p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhL6HTLngQWdOlwbfeEkKPKXiATPuNUoG5YwdEVejAlIIo4-hAvykimF35fPC_ReKVEBSDduoCz1HJvL6Mbo-i5cJaJqA4_xr4mSq5PtLIzJTm7CAu_mhYRSLB8ph9TCde1TNlc7c5g7A/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="683" data-original-width="1024" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhL6HTLngQWdOlwbfeEkKPKXiATPuNUoG5YwdEVejAlIIo4-hAvykimF35fPC_ReKVEBSDduoCz1HJvL6Mbo-i5cJaJqA4_xr4mSq5PtLIzJTm7CAu_mhYRSLB8ph9TCde1TNlc7c5g7A/" width="320" /></a></div><br />And they really have a tough situation as far as indoor pests go. <p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOLIZPLsRy-uvzDBOXtSiTm0zoIvU_qJZ5OGaj58xVen2zWLW90gVY-phroQvddQL6rr_vnbRhpLJMFcmVEFJ8q_AkViduTEuORQn1UWY7W7OE0Kox4ExFfLW5Evk_LevRtqqN5-cwmQ/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="168" data-original-width="300" height="179" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOLIZPLsRy-uvzDBOXtSiTm0zoIvU_qJZ5OGaj58xVen2zWLW90gVY-phroQvddQL6rr_vnbRhpLJMFcmVEFJ8q_AkViduTEuORQn1UWY7W7OE0Kox4ExFfLW5Evk_LevRtqqN5-cwmQ/" width="320" /></a></div><br />It could happen to anyone. During our house hunt, we found a place we really liked, but there was a visible mousetrap in the cellar. I walked away from the negotiations. Don't misunderstand me, I'm glad I saw it. But the house should have been properly staged for sale, and it should have been sparkling clean. Your house inspector would be helpful in letting you know if you have a vermin problem before you move in, and a nice interior decorator could help you choose curtains that will keep the neighbors and passersby from seeing you in your delicates.<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/96Yga4SB1pw" width="320" youtube-src-id="96Yga4SB1pw"></iframe></div><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkmDhsTpVetTRw0sbq2a2b7Jr-oWAUinquVE0EVG9A-l_1lXl60U1syKuQ7EgV_l8Z-bllpIa_WK_jfHPLemCqaxflJYOzDmPqValKGrJZSwPVOH_igjmtJau2r5I8QG-eHYCxMpzRRw/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="163" data-original-width="308" height="169" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkmDhsTpVetTRw0sbq2a2b7Jr-oWAUinquVE0EVG9A-l_1lXl60U1syKuQ7EgV_l8Z-bllpIa_WK_jfHPLemCqaxflJYOzDmPqValKGrJZSwPVOH_igjmtJau2r5I8QG-eHYCxMpzRRw/" width="320" /></a></div><br />To be certain there were no errant odors when staging my old home for sale, I made sure all our fabrics were freshly laundered, floors were mopped, and surfaces wiped down. I used an oil diffuser to fill the house with a light scent reminiscent of baked goods, and vases with fresh flowers were in most rooms. <p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/WP8HSRDviEQ" width="320" youtube-src-id="WP8HSRDviEQ"></iframe></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: left;">We ripped out the carpet in our new home and installed laminate flooring because we have pets, and we had to do extensive repairs to the subfloor and joists due to age. The floor is still somewhat uneven. This can cause furniture to rock. We also created a courtyard patio and repaired our fencing. We certainly wouldn't want our pets roaming loose or having unwelcome animal visitors to our home. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/rNHFpAMPTfg" width="320" youtube-src-id="rNHFpAMPTfg"></iframe></div><p>Toilet troubles are no laughing matter. A couple of weeks after we moved in, the downstairs toilet seal started leaking. Having done a little minor plumbing fixes in my time, I rolled out to the home improvement store and purchased a new valve kit. Unbeknownst to me, there are two types, and we have the Mansfield type. I know, right? It would have been helpful to know beforehand so I could have saved myself two trips. So when doing these kinds of repairs, make sure you know which type you have before you drive out to save yourself some time. Another helpful hint, wear gloves when installing a new valve kit, because a degraded seal can stain your hands.</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPr4I8ge1MoMrs6pEU_VBbkW1cZlGvTKJfM-Aiv-c-JtHt1rU8l15C8-Z-JjR9wJbMzxl9f7Tv6G7EKRv2fJJlCtak9WmZjfKf-MSLN3rSRfy4zkCOovhoLtnWTzXQp4Y3wdjDwjeMUA/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="241" data-original-width="468" height="165" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPr4I8ge1MoMrs6pEU_VBbkW1cZlGvTKJfM-Aiv-c-JtHt1rU8l15C8-Z-JjR9wJbMzxl9f7Tv6G7EKRv2fJJlCtak9WmZjfKf-MSLN3rSRfy4zkCOovhoLtnWTzXQp4Y3wdjDwjeMUA/" width="320" /></a></div><br /><br /><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/3DC_M2VgfVA" width="320" youtube-src-id="3DC_M2VgfVA"></iframe></div><p>And finally, stains can be difficult to remove. A little hydrogen peroxide can remove a lot of tough stains, particularly in high-traffic areas like stairways.</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWuB-5q8c_cv1VvXuQm_i1Xp6gQnAzBkXEwM89HUaEh7NS0yL8MqV3obLh72AepzusUowp0DqS5eiyoJge7W846mi_0CEFLXiquMm0IvTOC4otYODR3zc3vzkbBrrU-X4HP_FZiuW1_A/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="165" data-original-width="305" height="173" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWuB-5q8c_cv1VvXuQm_i1Xp6gQnAzBkXEwM89HUaEh7NS0yL8MqV3obLh72AepzusUowp0DqS5eiyoJge7W846mi_0CEFLXiquMm0IvTOC4otYODR3zc3vzkbBrrU-X4HP_FZiuW1_A/" width="320" /></a></div><p>So I hope these tips will help you if you're selling your home or looking to buy, and will help you solve some of those tough situations that arise after you move in.</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRZ2mVNGE5tYa_T3OWt_b1LxDGz9H-jkPf2zLV9-d8W7_M-T-f3931NFyn0MKVHiODv3VzUx5RnxSQw6v3hEaz4n72FpqMFFQf9U4XqIWtBP-D6J2XQT5kLxqEUv_d7iH21d6LPXFKeQ/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="342" data-original-width="462" height="237" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRZ2mVNGE5tYa_T3OWt_b1LxDGz9H-jkPf2zLV9-d8W7_M-T-f3931NFyn0MKVHiODv3VzUx5RnxSQw6v3hEaz4n72FpqMFFQf9U4XqIWtBP-D6J2XQT5kLxqEUv_d7iH21d6LPXFKeQ/" width="320" /></a></div><br />Oops, I totally forgot I'm not Norm Abram, and I'm supposed to be reviewing The Amityville Horror. If I had a nickel for every time that happened, I'd have 35 cents. Anyway, like the Lutz's decor, it was pretty lousy.<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/9fSqS0MrOZ0" width="320" youtube-src-id="9fSqS0MrOZ0"></iframe></div><br /><p>Thanks again to ReelWeegieMidgetReviews for allowing me to participate in the Home Sweet Home Blogathon! Stay tuned for the Joan Collins Blogathon later this year!</p><br /><br /><p></p>Stabford Deathragehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15924313514441970164noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7758970191041214638.post-75830027426209127972020-12-11T13:24:00.000-08:002020-12-11T13:24:19.670-08:00Cher...and Other Fantasies<div style="text-align: center;">
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<div style="text-align: left;">Oops-a-daisy. I accidentally forgot to blog for 18 months. How embarrassing.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">I used to be one of those bloggers who would look at a blog that has been abandoned and thought to myself, "Why, I enjoy blogging so much and giving random strangers a piece of my mind, I'd never let my blog go silent", and look what's happened. I totally shut up, and I never do that, even when begged to.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Once again, I'm completely out of my element and late to the party, and since that's been my MO since almost forever, I should be used to it by now. The basic gist of my blog is to critically examine some lesser known films that often hover at the lower ends of IMDB's Bottom 100, and by "critically examine" I really mean "barely pay attention to while gorging on Halloween-themed snack cakes". </div>
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Over the past year or two, Gill at <a href="https://weegiemidget.wordpress.com/2019/07/30/shelley-winters/" target="_blank">ReelWeegieMidget Reviews</a> has been gracious enough to allow me to participate in her always entertaining blogathons, even though I'm often tardy and unfocused. I'm grateful to be included, even though I'm ill-equipped to give accomplished actors Lee Grant, Jeff Goldblum, and now, Shelley Winters the spotlight they deserve, when inevitably I somehow manage to make every blogpost about me, go off subject, meander about on unrelated side-quests, and when I finish the post a year and a half after I said I would. Oops.</div>
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So, before I get started, I wanted to thank Gill for everything, and away we go.</div>
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<b><i><u>Cher...And Other Fantasies</u></i></b></div>
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<div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDbvDX4yV4N8mn_TV8Z_OCEwXJI0EAFQ9yiQXX-HI_H01Mbii2T_hNE_2QYQaLB893lOjzB-4jkjb_jEY0g0k9xRrauUDfV1-yyQiuRpQS3Ui77fyq1CY6se4B4rzdDTSI7pLTikctTQ/s1212/Screen+Shot+2020-12-09+at+2.53.46+PM.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="834" data-original-width="1212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDbvDX4yV4N8mn_TV8Z_OCEwXJI0EAFQ9yiQXX-HI_H01Mbii2T_hNE_2QYQaLB893lOjzB-4jkjb_jEY0g0k9xRrauUDfV1-yyQiuRpQS3Ui77fyq1CY6se4B4rzdDTSI7pLTikctTQ/s320/Screen+Shot+2020-12-09+at+2.53.46+PM.png" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="text-align: left;">The first thing you might notice once you start this grainy transfer from VHS (with vintage commercials!) on Youtube is that this variety TV program from 1979 features Cher undergoing 19 costume changes. Maybe you might not notice, because the image is terrible, she's enveloped in dreamlike, dry ice fog, and she's covered in thousands of pounds of sequins. This sequence must have taken weeks to shoot and thirty trips to the wig store. </span></div><span style="text-align: left;"><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Allow me just a moment to give everyone a little history lesson. Thousand of years ago during television's infancy and before we could hit the "Skip Ad" button, TV programs consisted of about 6 minutes of actual entertainment and 24 minutes of advertisements, and nearly all of them sang to you. Even Egg McMuffins had a theme song.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/f-8rcPOs9r4" width="320" youtube-src-id="f-8rcPOs9r4"></iframe></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Anyway, Cher goes to a party in a labyrinthine apartment building and meets Elliot Gould, who skips. After some awkward dialogue where words seem to have been pulled randomly from the Mad Hatter's hat, Cher journeys from one vignette to another in a vaguely Alice In Wonderland-kind of way although you wish she wouldn't. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi07xmZYgmTq3bv9pP4l-2hY5dCxh227LWuItZ2gAsBuhIsO02pWkMJXlH3vVE-fwebMPfRXWMzJ1EY6xtaDNIbFwWwYJBAeaHCDwCgbxgKpmD_UV5O5sRl2YdDf6jbDG8Hzb4SekaYvg/s1204/Screen+Shot+2020-12-09+at+2.45.38+PM.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="824" data-original-width="1204" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi07xmZYgmTq3bv9pP4l-2hY5dCxh227LWuItZ2gAsBuhIsO02pWkMJXlH3vVE-fwebMPfRXWMzJ1EY6xtaDNIbFwWwYJBAeaHCDwCgbxgKpmD_UV5O5sRl2YdDf6jbDG8Hzb4SekaYvg/s320/Screen+Shot+2020-12-09+at+2.45.38+PM.png" width="320" /></a></div><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">In the vignette entitled Misery Loves Company, Shelley Winters tries to sell Cher "1, 2, 3 and 4 hanky tragedies" amidst canned laughter. After some awkward prodding the pair recreates "Withering" Heights, and Cher gives Shelly Winters acting lessons. Shelly Winters get her skirt blown up by a fan mimicking the wiley, windy moors. They shove each other's faces in some dirt. They seem to be good sports about these indignities, and they have a genuine chemistry.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">While we're on the subject of Withering Heights, allow me to take a moment to share this video of Noel Fielding recreating the Red Dress Version of Kate Bush's music video for Wuthering Heights for no good reason at all other than it being possibly the best thing that's ever happened ever.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/du4uH1fC9B8" width="320" youtube-src-id="du4uH1fC9B8"></iframe></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">Speaking of shag haircuts, pointed chelsea boots, and The Great British Bake Off, Cher performs Bob Seger's "Feel Like a Number" while playing unconvincing air guitar and it looks suspiciously like she's never seen anyone play a guitar, let alone marry a guitarist. </div></span></div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSCcZZdkUdPYZLnpUWA-rYzGCHBP6pcf8BFGCsnHVY5rQBz1EMVKs5ivGCONameWzlAN3a64UlWDShyw6uodOvDOZUSS89w-k-gRJdYN_hmVYykDMj0EGEX5xoc57Gm5Y9oFiUezOP8A/s1202/Screen+Shot+2020-12-09+at+2.46.29+PM.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="838" data-original-width="1202" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSCcZZdkUdPYZLnpUWA-rYzGCHBP6pcf8BFGCsnHVY5rQBz1EMVKs5ivGCONameWzlAN3a64UlWDShyw6uodOvDOZUSS89w-k-gRJdYN_hmVYykDMj0EGEX5xoc57Gm5Y9oFiUezOP8A/s320/Screen+Shot+2020-12-09+at+2.46.29+PM.png" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div>Before we discuss the next vignette and while we're on the subject of black satin pants with suspenders, I'd like to take a moment to post a video by Moog synthesizer composer Mart Garson to get you warmed up.</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/Lpxi2q5GAFo" width="320" youtube-src-id="Lpxi2q5GAFo"></iframe></div><br /><div>Ok, now that we got that out of the way, the next vignette in Cher...and Other Fantasies is a spectacular Red Shoes-inspired roller skate ballet with classical music performed on an analog modular synthesizer, and by "spectacular" I mean, well, I don't exactly know what I mean. It's a thing, and it exists.</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtNKjsa9gzEyzEO1xJkZOOfODiWLEHmc7b_u3yoCiRMXkR5u2VLRxISvMMgJSDDT1mjltpTw6Y_nFLfKwr4aNsypx_Q1eObdM6GAn-UB85ZOAg_emJCto3oIRoGFyPeVQvdNHPVuUpaA/s1212/Screen+Shot+2020-12-09+at+2.51.11+PM.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="830" data-original-width="1212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtNKjsa9gzEyzEO1xJkZOOfODiWLEHmc7b_u3yoCiRMXkR5u2VLRxISvMMgJSDDT1mjltpTw6Y_nFLfKwr4aNsypx_Q1eObdM6GAn-UB85ZOAg_emJCto3oIRoGFyPeVQvdNHPVuUpaA/s320/Screen+Shot+2020-12-09+at+2.51.11+PM.png" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div>Cher seems to be a supporting actor in her own show. This was conceived a few years away from her serious acting with Silkwood, and it seems like someone involved just wants her to shut up and sing. Cher...and Other Fantasies was nominated for an Emmy for Outstanding Costume Design, and considering how many costumes there are, I'm genuinely surprised it didn't win. Oh yeah, speaking of "costumes", Andy Kauffman makes an appearance as Adam while speaking with his Latka voice wearing leafy pantaloons while playing basketball in the Garden of Eden while Cher in a dual role lounges in a tree wearing snake print and making some risqué jokes about Kaufman's figs. </div><div><br /></div><div>There were an awful lot of whiles in that sentence, and it was just awful. You gotta do what you gotta do.</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicjniHOO5IvdIF68ZpX3X4JjRfUKF64DXxUWZPjrNeDt9G21aQRxWetUMkHj_DWk-7zt3QN9aCZozXYUxRLr151XSkcAHDlnu-cRx3rBpYBRT9TwZFaYo2IotlwFOOtJVkMFzzIaPHew/s1216/Screen+Shot+2020-12-09+at+2.52.42+PM.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="830" data-original-width="1216" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicjniHOO5IvdIF68ZpX3X4JjRfUKF64DXxUWZPjrNeDt9G21aQRxWetUMkHj_DWk-7zt3QN9aCZozXYUxRLr151XSkcAHDlnu-cRx3rBpYBRT9TwZFaYo2IotlwFOOtJVkMFzzIaPHew/s320/Screen+Shot+2020-12-09+at+2.52.42+PM.png" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div>Speaking of figs, the video I watched contained vintage commercials from when Fruit Of The Looms cost $1.07 a pair. </div><div><br /></div><div>Brutal, nonsensical, and tedious, Cher...and Other Fantasies is an extravaganza of sequins and cheese and is recommended if you like stuff that was extravagantly costumed by Bob Mackie and stuff that sucks. </div>Stabford Deathragehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15924313514441970164noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7758970191041214638.post-84458778727368306562019-08-18T07:49:00.000-07:002019-08-18T07:53:30.836-07:00Thank God It's Friday<div style="text-align: center;">
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My loveseat is in my kitchen. So is my wingback chair, as is my entertainment console, and two huge bookcases. So is the other living room chair, and four stools. My dining room table that seats 8 is dismantled, and is leaning against my refrigerator, like a wooden, tipsy monolith. There is no room to move.<br />
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The kitchen countertops are clear of debris. They're clear of everything, really, because they're covered by plastic sheeting. My backsplash is nearly done, its grey, one-inch glass tiling adhered to the wall, but not grouted. It looks great, but nearly done is certainly not finished, and being unfinished makes it extraordinarily difficult to make coffee.<br />
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If this sounds uncharacteristically dour, I'm struggling to find the humor in all this. I've been moving for what seems like a year. I guess all my jokes are still packed in cardboard.<br />
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It's not all doom and gloom. I am very much enjoying my new neighborhood. I could swing a dead cat and hit artisan cupcakes, "old fashioned" hot dogs (I'm unsure what that means, and scared to find out), Asian noodles, European cookies, vegan soft-serve, three breweries, Croque Monsieurs, falafel, and stone-oven pizza, although I wouldn't recommend swinging one. A dead cat, that is. Don't swing a Croque Monsieur.<br />
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<a href="https://www.epicurious.com/recipes/food/views/croque-monsieur-105077" target="_blank">Croque Monsieur Recipe</a></div>
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As I write this, I'm sitting on my dusty living room floor on a torn piece of carpet underlayment, near two large 2' by 10' holes where some of the original circa-1880 floor used to be. The joists are visible, and I'm annoyed. Sure, we knew the flooring would have to be replaced, but this project has stretched on longer than planned.<br />
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Last night, I watched Thank God It's Friday for Reelweegiemidget's Jeff Goldblum Blogathon in my dusty, empty living room, sitting on a piece of torn carpet underlayment, leaning against several boxes of luxury vinyl plank flooring. It's a long way from luxury, and I'm losing the feeling in my legs.<br />
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<a href="https://weegiemidget.wordpress.com/2019/06/09/the-jeff-goldblum-blogathon/" target="_blank">https://weegiemidget.wordpress.com/2019/06/09/the-jeff-goldblum-blogathon/</a></div>
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Ok, so enough about that. Onto the review.<br />
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<i>Thank God It's Friday</i></div>
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Jeff Goldblum gets third billing. Debra Winger is way down the list. Remarkably enough, Terri Nunn, lead vocalist for 80s synth pop group Berlin, has a big part in the film. Although in the film only a short time, Donna Summer gets billed last, and it's apparent she's the reason the film exists at all.<br />
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Future Academy Award nominee Debra Winger wipes her friend with a cheeseburger. Jeff Goldblum drives a yellow Porsche and goes to great lengths to protect it with a car cover stored in the trunk. The car has a license plate that reads, "Big One". Terri Nunn hitchhikes. In a repeated joke, Goldblum's car gets sideswiped by the supporting cast's vehicles.<br />
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Meanwhile, Jeff Goldblum glares at a sweaty elevator operator wearing a gorilla costume. Two uptight squares on an anniversary date blink in amazement at strobe lights and striped knee-high socks while they carry around a pepper mill.<br />
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Meanwhile, Wrong Way Floyd is in charge of getting The Commodores equipment to a midnight gig in a Ford Econoline. At least I assume so. I'm often accused of having "car blindness", where I think every car I see is a Buick. Or maybe it's a Futura.<br />
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<span style="text-align: left;">Anyway, I'm not sure if anyone is aware of this, but bands just don't show up with a saxophone 5 minutes before a gig. Contracts are signed, routes are planned, semis are packed, egos are stroked, and deli meats and bottled waters are set out backstage. Don't ask me how I know this. I just do.</span></div>
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Sidebar: Once many years ago I went to a child's birthday party at Chuck E. Cheese's. Wait, that sounds like I wanted to go. Let's try that again. Many years ago, my children were invited to a fellow child's birthday party, and I was forced to suffer through laughter, tears, skee-ball, and mediocre pizza. Yeah, that's more like it. </div>
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The animatronic band onstage in a corner of the restaurant coughed, stuttered, lurched, and wheezed through a hideous rendition of Brick House which had been curiously reworked to feature a pizza-slinging mouse as the protagonist. Dozens of children ignored it, while I stared aghast in horror.</div>
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Do we have a clip? Hurray! We have a clip.</div>
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Marv Gomez The Leatherman gives a guy a leather jacket and disco lessons before dancing atop a phone booth. Donna Summer serves a salad. Donna Summer and Terri Nunn simultaneously cry in a bathroom, which is remarkable considering both performed on songs that won Oscars for Best Original Song. No, performers do not win the Oscar, only the songwriter, which is kind of a rip-off if you think about it. Actors win Oscars for performing scripts that usually do not write, so that's food for thought.<br />
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Speaking of food, Jeff Goldblum's Porsche falls apart after a tap with the pepper mill. The male square gets high on booze, pills, and amyl nitrate and takes a ride with Tarzan. Lionel Richie plays sax.</div>
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Thank God It's Friday makes a night out on the town look like Black Friday at Walmart, except with dancing, so it's a film that makes an evening of dancing look sort of like a crowded, noisy chore you do with sweaty, flailing strangers, where several people get punched and someone goes home with a regrettable tube top.<br />
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It's an anti-disco disco movie with forgettable tunes as script, with the notable exception of the two Commodores tunes and the Oscar-winning Donna Summer song. It's such an anti-disco disco movie it's almost a cautionary tale for the entire decade. Since Donna Summer is the draw for the film, she should have been given more to do, as she's luminous during the performance of Last Dance. Thank God It's Friday has an unmistakeable Love Boat or Charlie's Angels feel throughout, which isn't a compliment, although it absolutely should be, as if the filmmakers kept the 4/4 beat and the campy, polyester fashions, but forgot the fun. Jeff Goldblum is slick and sleazy in green and red polyester, which is a compliment.<br />
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Stabford Deathragehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15924313514441970164noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7758970191041214638.post-37992011305453135842019-05-03T12:14:00.001-07:002019-05-03T12:14:26.133-07:00The Picture Of Dorian Gray<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBBRU1rnxpjDfOaleB1SN4z7Z2BsRnzGnLmk921w1jETLetdnqbPz3xygnTYqdVuj9dmPMeXMLz1Dg932Oe_4UYeLq6p-CsSykwSaI9xhK08vOZ8PNQ5xmeCy_AUd3RdvvfGnOhXcgdg/s1600/angelalansbury.png" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="157" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBBRU1rnxpjDfOaleB1SN4z7Z2BsRnzGnLmk921w1jETLetdnqbPz3xygnTYqdVuj9dmPMeXMLz1Dg932Oe_4UYeLq6p-CsSykwSaI9xhK08vOZ8PNQ5xmeCy_AUd3RdvvfGnOhXcgdg/s320/angelalansbury.png" width="320" /></a></div>
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This post was supposed to be a part of the Adoring Angela Lansbury Blogathon hosted by <a href="https://weegiemidget.wordpress.com/" target="_blank">Realweegiemidget Reviews</a>, but I never finished it. I would like to thank Gill for inviting me to contribute, but my life and everything in it has gotten completely out of hand, and I've rewritten it three times. Here is the review, whether anyone wants it now or not. </div>
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Well, before I get on with the review, I'll explain my delay. My wife and I have been trying to sell Deathrage Tower, as we are trying to downsize, which means we are going to sell our current, perfectly acceptable penthouse and move into a larger, more extravagant penthouse because why wouldn't we. We'd prefer to move from our penthouse near quirky shops and interesting bars and restaurants which we never go to, and move into a completely different yet extremely similar penthouse near other quirky shops and interesting bars and restaurants that are new to us that we will never visit, and we'd like everything to be unnecessarily expensive, stressful, and time-consuming. </div>
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<i>Deathrage Tower. Yes, it's always blurry, in black and white, and lacking in curb appeal. </i></div>
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Mrs. Deathrage has gone totally KonMari and has packed up everything that makes me somewhat interesting. Apparently, home buyers want a listing to appear somewhat "lived in", but also need the property to be a "blank slate", to help them imagine their own furnishings and belongings within the space, without the current owners' personalities overwhelming it. That means Mrs. Deathrage has packed up all my DVDs, CDs, LPs, books about psychotronic film, cursed paintings, candles shaped like skulls, carvings of skulls, paintings of skulls, actual skulls, and for some unknown reason, the microwave. I can't find anything.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQZIclEvWjpgZGv0OkBAfP14FxBosGarYAwaRN6_Ud8x4_zzr1wWzg1lL4akXED1O4GcAIMfcIILe7T9nWjf2n8c2G55KHl-nQHJU8wsZGLYvQ2FOyhi0dIxp8FxWuP0_SUM_cQpfPkg/s1600/36046214.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQZIclEvWjpgZGv0OkBAfP14FxBosGarYAwaRN6_Ud8x4_zzr1wWzg1lL4akXED1O4GcAIMfcIILe7T9nWjf2n8c2G55KHl-nQHJU8wsZGLYvQ2FOyhi0dIxp8FxWuP0_SUM_cQpfPkg/s320/36046214.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<i>Is this a photo of Deathrage Tower, or a Japanese capsule hotel room? Who knows? Also, it's taken so long to write this post no one talks about Marie Kondo any more.</i></div>
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So this means I'm pulling skulls shaped like candles out of boxes and putting them back on shelves, and throwing art back on the walls that's been stored away, which I'll then have to put back in a box once we eventually move.<br />
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When I'm not packing and unpacking my extremely cool decorations, Mrs. Deathrage has been forcing me to watch the Great Interior Design Challenge, where two interior design professionals challenge four amateur interior designers to design a room for British home owners who seem to be unable to decorate their own houses, often to the death.<br />
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I'm kidding, they don't do that, although it would be interesting to see one of the design professionals tell one of the competitors, "I'm sorry, your choice of wallpaper is tragic. Please put on this blindfold, and stand near your tragically decorated wall. *points revolver at contestant*"</div>
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One thing I do find fascinating about the show is that over the course of the season, the competitors not only find confidence in their interior design skills, but they become more dramatic in their choice of apparel, as they shed their jeans and t-shirts for intricate brocade tops that look like valances. </div>
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<i>He saw it in the window and just couldn't resist it.</i></div>
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So far, the sale of the penthouse isn't going well, in spite of my efforts to be welcoming and hospitable by placing fresh cut flowers in all the rooms, brewing pot after pot of fresh coffee, and setting out tins of extravagantly flavored cookies. One thing that is possibly hurting the sale of our penthouse is that I often lurk in the lobby hiding behind some potted plants watching potential buyers tour our home. It might also be because I mock these potential buyers while yelling in a deep, gravely voice, "Don't drink the freshly brewed coffee. The aroma is for ambience. Don't eat the exotically flavored cookies in extravagant tins. They're decorative."<br />
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<i>Maybe I'm unsure what welcoming and hospitable means.</i></div>
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Much to my chagrin, we keep getting feedback from potential buyers after they tour our home. A recurring theme seems to be that they like the amenities (proximity to good schools, near bars and restaurants), but they dislike the decor (candles are threatening, paintings appear to be cursed).<br />
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Here's a little feedback for ya: Like, duh, and no one asked you. That's why I keep putting these paintings back on the walls.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7assvqqtPRvwSwlVHp9LtICzxv4DnbGWIIfew6VSsTi5663s8XQS42Gabenyz9kPbLg0J68OspOpsDyprR0-mhhrV72wrf4j4xZoSqnhmk8fyUDxX2A41GtyttI0h7uvqEe9sz1X1zQ/s1600/untitled-158.jpg%2521PinterestSmall.jpg" imageanchor="1"></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiq4NX8VQfn61fdqY-mWy0euYs27_n7mnnXkbV_UQ8G7q94inH-RqJa6hI5PFPkfXx9dX82KWcbbwr7-mcSMi9bvPDt87CLR4e7Vpz2ZEiA0bjal_hzVI_jRoYl5uPZvqyJJAc0OhSyzQ/s1600/PbN-8.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiq4NX8VQfn61fdqY-mWy0euYs27_n7mnnXkbV_UQ8G7q94inH-RqJa6hI5PFPkfXx9dX82KWcbbwr7-mcSMi9bvPDt87CLR4e7Vpz2ZEiA0bjal_hzVI_jRoYl5uPZvqyJJAc0OhSyzQ/s320/PbN-8.jpg" width="320" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDzOetQc6dlQx-7cVqOskJ-M18fdIlxVGuu3OunfndKyzNm2gqak1-MpdCX8hs6E8DzJwlu0ouz69nUecz6dBNxpYNecJZwJU0MTD8zJYlphUVTORDs2ZB5raj8jjU9m_wW_fu70E9IQ/s1600/thomas-kinkade-disney-limited-edition-thomas-kinkade-mickey-and-minnie-in-paris-4.png.jpeg" imageanchor="1"></a></div>
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Potential buyers also seem to be unimpressed by the soundscape I've specifically curated for just the right atmosphere, which is dungeon synth, medieval party mixes, and nordic ambient, which I keep playing from a hidden speaker no one can locate or turn off.<br />
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Obviously, I've never been particularly good with feedback. Speaking of feedback, maybe during our next open house, I'll play this:</div>
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Also, there seems to be a legend surrounding Deathrage Tower that a guy with horns, cloven hooves, and a tail haunts the place, but I've never seen him.</div>
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Speaking of unexplainable paranormal events, we went to an open house for a penthouse that fits our exacting demands; once two weekends ago, and again on Sunday. Here's how that went down.<br />
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Yes, this really happened.</div>
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<i>Two weeks ago</i>:</div>
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<i>First Realtor: This space has an interesting energy.</i></div>
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<i>Me, pointing a finger accusingly: What the heck is that supposed to mean? Is this a stigmatized property?</i></div>
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<i>First Realtor, becoming suddenly grave: No. No, it isn't. No. *pause* No.</i></div>
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<i>Me: Seriously, this joint being haunted is not a deal-breaker.</i></div>
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<i>Sunday:</i></div>
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<i>Completely Different Realtor, actively smudging the penthouse with smoldering sage: Sorry about the smell.</i></div>
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<i>Me, coughing, dumbfounded: OK, what the heck is going on? Last week, a realtor denied this was a stigmatized property, and now you're smudging the place.</i></div>
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<i>Realtor, realizing their mistake, and desperately attempting to reassure me: I live in the neighborhood. I've had some good times here. I partied here in the 80s. I'm just trying to dispel some negative energies.</i></div>
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<i>Me: Seriously, this isn't a deal-breaker.</i></div>
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That penthouse is still our Plan A, I'm genuinely surprised I wasn't dispelled from all that sage, and I'm assuming those were actual realtors. Let me know if I show up on one of those ghost hunting reality TV programs, will you?<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjF0QruYcpkmkQRzSsqCsDE1qr7MKzKaY2pbSAKnra_8_b3h8UZ0Kqv8quK-UYle2ox3JD6247TlEDy5Ss3tuEudPLoRM726zlGWe2LfuBbLYvov0N56HiLCe3h80Rlre1jtNf6cD83vA/s1600/Unknown-1.jpeg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjF0QruYcpkmkQRzSsqCsDE1qr7MKzKaY2pbSAKnra_8_b3h8UZ0Kqv8quK-UYle2ox3JD6247TlEDy5Ss3tuEudPLoRM726zlGWe2LfuBbLYvov0N56HiLCe3h80Rlre1jtNf6cD83vA/s400/Unknown-1.jpeg" /></a></div>
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<i>LOL, ok, whatever.</i></div>
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Anyway, as I've been awfully busy being awful, I didn't have a chance to finish my review of The Picture Of Dorian Gray for the blogathon. It was a thrill to watch something filmed during the middle of the last century and having little if anything to do with home decorating for a change. Here's what I wrote. It's incomplete, you know, because of the redecorating, cookies, and procrastination.<br />
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<b><u>The Picture Of Dorian Gray</u></b></div>
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A Lord twiddles a walking stick suggestively, then poisons a butterfly and sticks it to a card with a pin.<br />
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<iframe allow="accelerometer; autoplay; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/V04bUY5Kl8w" width="560"></iframe></div>
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Vapid, smirking Dorian Gray stands near a magical statue of an Egyptian Cat, mimicking its features. The Lord and the painter fawn over the painting as Dorian just stands around. Later, Dorian Gray slums in the working class pub The Two Turtles, and becomes enthralled with Angela Lansbury's character, the symbolically named Sibyl Vane, who sings a sweet song. The Lord suggests Sibyl is not as wholesome as she appears, and eggs Dorian into some shady shenanigans. While playing Chopin's Prelude Number 24 on the piano for her, Dorian tries to trick Sibyl into a bit of hanky panky.<br />
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<iframe allow="accelerometer; autoplay; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/h1Y0ai-peGo" width="560"></iframe> </div>
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After reading a quote from Wilde, Dorian turns callous and calculating. Sibyl drops a single tear. When she complies with Dorian's carnal wishes, fulfilling the Lord's underhanded business, Dorian tosses her aside. Then lots of movie and dialogue happens, where the cast talks about all the hideous things Dorian has done, but never shows them. Someone offhandedly remarks that there are rumors Dorian has been hanging around in Whitechapel. Occasionally, the titular picture is shown in vivid technicolor. Painted for the film by Ivan Albright, you can see it in person at the Art Institute of Chicago, which I have, and it's incredible. If it was for sale, I'd likely hide it in my own attic. Yes, my penthouse has an attic. Shut up. It does so.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_kmQ8xkORhk0sKytBMcGqdmkO0k9-eArjbjueMFLIm63NNE-kBABIhOe-En_VL_il1Hlm2Ivm7g2DdV5E6_upAS81kyD82GZ4qWlItJmY7iFFw4sXNT2SdiTd50GZUQ5n3Z9-_nXvIw/s1600/8f50c9245907876f855d9e948afe86b2.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_kmQ8xkORhk0sKytBMcGqdmkO0k9-eArjbjueMFLIm63NNE-kBABIhOe-En_VL_il1Hlm2Ivm7g2DdV5E6_upAS81kyD82GZ4qWlItJmY7iFFw4sXNT2SdiTd50GZUQ5n3Z9-_nXvIw/s320/8f50c9245907876f855d9e948afe86b2.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
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That's all I have. Angela Lansbury is great, but her appearance is brief.<br />
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Are you really still reading this? Wow, I'm impressed!<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0MFMa5NP4dK89EXFC61He8uUde7SolB2g08ydJRyqX9Oc3ScGM_bsm4mtFXTYympvhvfozcN2r04hfM4BZGJDVD4qc2cfARuFYpfxUMbOv_1uSSSmI_7uhtQGiVpqryzofdrvcF1VUw/s1600/images.png" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0MFMa5NP4dK89EXFC61He8uUde7SolB2g08ydJRyqX9Oc3ScGM_bsm4mtFXTYympvhvfozcN2r04hfM4BZGJDVD4qc2cfARuFYpfxUMbOv_1uSSSmI_7uhtQGiVpqryzofdrvcF1VUw/s400/images.png" /></a></div>
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Anyway, I'd like to thank Gill from <a href="https://weegiemidget.wordpress.com/" target="_blank">RealweegiemidgetReviews</a> again for inviting me to contribute to the Adoring Angela Lansbury Blogathon which I totally dropped the ball on.</div>
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Stabford Deathragehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15924313514441970164noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7758970191041214638.post-30559975069783536702018-12-05T08:43:00.000-08:002018-12-05T08:43:11.040-08:00Exorcist II: The Heretic<div style="text-align: center;">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5aCJCTVkk1YTl3GYczjrtq9YR95hBKQFmodkouq0Lwq5pGmoDvtWmEjrJCX866hwHhHEwwq_W8-YEe8EQK3AEZUg5osTO9AjUGCB2kE0oJ6VAIKO8bsTEn4qX4tUcCnIyAPaFofgtBQ/s1600/MV5BZTQ2NmY5NmUtNWJiNS00ZjZmLTllMjQtNzU3YWZlM2E2MmJjXkEyXkFqcGdeQXVyMTQxNzMzNDI%2540._V1_UX182_CR0%252C0%252C182%252C268_AL_.jpg" imageanchor="1"></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivZu5sZk8AmXCu2DhI8FHS335p3w3A6R7_y-z5ZYu0NUIRUyFHHIv99pEEP_mzkwbEiMtgTaSXBx9CD0MRo9FwWvpxuft6URXZQjg7vn0vy9ED9JuM2WBWShBBX_2Az3ETxY_sHE8cVg/s1600/burton4.png" imageanchor="1"></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtxZfbkxAYUJNBRrlPSMB215UetYRS18DZBLwfHxse6Ry9EBnk2xVdTLUi6Ja9hZ8E2HJkAhtp37ZW-eUxH9lshJ3SrGEcJ-J7sxz_mPGGWxQwx43Y8JiJRoBYf0io6N206x23EvGHbQ/s1600/burton4.png" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="181" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtxZfbkxAYUJNBRrlPSMB215UetYRS18DZBLwfHxse6Ry9EBnk2xVdTLUi6Ja9hZ8E2HJkAhtp37ZW-eUxH9lshJ3SrGEcJ-J7sxz_mPGGWxQwx43Y8JiJRoBYf0io6N206x23EvGHbQ/s320/burton4.png" width="320" /></a></div>
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Again, Realweegiemidget has me out of my element. I'm thrilled to take part in the Regaling About Richard Burton Blogathon, even though Richard Burton seems to have been in tons of great movies I haven't seen. Since Exorcist II: The Heretic is #85 on IMDB's Bottom Rated Movies (of which I've only seen 22, I guess I've been slacking), it would allow me to check another film off the list.<br />
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Since watching bad movies, checking things off lists, procrastination, and non-sequiturs are some of my favorite things, I wanted to take a moment to wish everyone a Happy Krampusnacht, and I hope the holiday is merry and bright.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8Uf6WVjGtQlVsTr3Ojq2fuRlUM9p80X2vVeUT0NhgFbZxmRhIZdlDhP_VsZw-qB4AW_-oqsaCMWUClc-Q7OlbmaIGy2Rzcf_IWAzYHXDUPSEnOX1Kgz0el6JPYEjJNVu_C5QHExw4dw/s1600/f-krampus-a-20171209-870x586.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="215" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8Uf6WVjGtQlVsTr3Ojq2fuRlUM9p80X2vVeUT0NhgFbZxmRhIZdlDhP_VsZw-qB4AW_-oqsaCMWUClc-Q7OlbmaIGy2Rzcf_IWAzYHXDUPSEnOX1Kgz0el6JPYEjJNVu_C5QHExw4dw/s320/f-krampus-a-20171209-870x586.jpg" width="320" /></a><br />
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Anyway, I'll try to stay on message, but I can't guarantee anything.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5aCJCTVkk1YTl3GYczjrtq9YR95hBKQFmodkouq0Lwq5pGmoDvtWmEjrJCX866hwHhHEwwq_W8-YEe8EQK3AEZUg5osTO9AjUGCB2kE0oJ6VAIKO8bsTEn4qX4tUcCnIyAPaFofgtBQ/s1600/MV5BZTQ2NmY5NmUtNWJiNS00ZjZmLTllMjQtNzU3YWZlM2E2MmJjXkEyXkFqcGdeQXVyMTQxNzMzNDI%2540._V1_UX182_CR0%252C0%252C182%252C268_AL_.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5aCJCTVkk1YTl3GYczjrtq9YR95hBKQFmodkouq0Lwq5pGmoDvtWmEjrJCX866hwHhHEwwq_W8-YEe8EQK3AEZUg5osTO9AjUGCB2kE0oJ6VAIKO8bsTEn4qX4tUcCnIyAPaFofgtBQ/s400/MV5BZTQ2NmY5NmUtNWJiNS00ZjZmLTllMjQtNzU3YWZlM2E2MmJjXkEyXkFqcGdeQXVyMTQxNzMzNDI%2540._V1_UX182_CR0%252C0%252C182%252C268_AL_.jpg" /></a></div>
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Speaking of procrastination, even though I knew about the Blogathon for months, I waited until the last possible minute to watch this film, because I've been busy checking things off lists and searching the internet for pictures of Krampus.<br />
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Mrs. Deathrage doesn't care much for horror films, and I usually wait until she's asleep to watch those films, but because I procrastinated, I ordered the movie off Amazon and started it up while she was working at her computer, blissfuly unaware of what is about to go down.<br />
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Naturally, Mrs. Deathrage and I had the following conversation.<br />
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<i>Mrs. Deathrage, as the TV shrieks and howls with the guttural wailing and caterwauling of the Ennio Morricone score: Oh no, is this scary? This sounds scary.</i><br />
<i>Me: No, it only got a 3.7 at IMDB, so it couldn't be that scary. </i><br />
<i>TV, interjecting itself into the conversation by showing images of a woman pelting Richard Burton with lit candles and immolating herself:</i><br />
<i>Me: Hmm.</i><br />
<i>Mrs. Deathrage: Hmm.</i><br />
<i>TV, adding insult to injury, showing images of Linda Blair tap dancing to Lullaby Of Broadway:</i><br />
<i>Mrs. Deathrage, returning to her work:</i><br />
<i>Louise Fletcher: 3 people died.</i><br />
<i>Mrs. Deathrage, looking up from her work: Who died?</i><br />
<i>Me, incredulously: Are you expecting me to explain the plot of the first Exorcist film?</i><br />
<i>Mrs. Deathrage, guilelessly: Isn't it nice to be married to someone where you can revisit the classics again and again?</i><br />
<i>Me:</i></div>
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<i>TV, trying not to be outdone, responding with 20 minutes of flashing lights and eye-blinking:</i></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0F6w_noCFVRie3i9mjAazTJwdDN80ZUQxTn8tnv7e-S09FXMAKMyCCDh_yue74eXEKUowFksM0UKickM8-WU3diX9P43AXzrExyssQMNztuBset2YbcSWYeEJhkcvbnfCiEyzEeMRWw/s1600/CrosseyedAndPainless.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0F6w_noCFVRie3i9mjAazTJwdDN80ZUQxTn8tnv7e-S09FXMAKMyCCDh_yue74eXEKUowFksM0UKickM8-WU3diX9P43AXzrExyssQMNztuBset2YbcSWYeEJhkcvbnfCiEyzEeMRWw/s320/CrosseyedAndPainless.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
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Then Linda Blair unexpectedly says the phrase, "Father, can you hear me?", and I try not to burst into song.</div>
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Meannwhile, as I wade through Youtube videos of the Yentl soundtrack, superimposed images of Linda Blair in a dual role grappling Louise Fletcher's gooey heart materialize onscreen, which was actually pretty cool.<br />
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Then Richard Burton tries to put out a fire with crutches, and what to my wondering eyes should appear, but press release photos of this exact image. It's a Krampusnacht miracle.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQn_XLarrIJAnz6ugjNRnNaiPFoxgD5S3el1RDkfVdexUHEmmvBrOGiM5Vy8d8_lsuqbBFJII9dQSisCMap3DtUyOGWALFEVryUKmMm4qCXPfmRauFbPcbP9j3JFroN_P8SQXPVSxFIA/s1600/Unknown-1.jpeg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQn_XLarrIJAnz6ugjNRnNaiPFoxgD5S3el1RDkfVdexUHEmmvBrOGiM5Vy8d8_lsuqbBFJII9dQSisCMap3DtUyOGWALFEVryUKmMm4qCXPfmRauFbPcbP9j3JFroN_P8SQXPVSxFIA/s400/Unknown-1.jpeg" /></a></div>
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Suddenly, Linda Blair hunkers down behind her Manhattan skyscraper rooftop chrome disco pigeon containment system, and that is a thing that apparently existed, but I'm not sure why it needed such a prominent role in this film.<br />
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However, I'm glad it did because I can now insert at least one video of a disco version of Tubular Bells.<br />
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Because it's in the script, Linda Blair tap-dances some more, and it's pretty dull in spite of the extravagant headwear. Wait a sec, I spoke too soon. LB lurches off the stage and has a sequined, screeching fit.<br />
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Sorry, I couldn't find a video for the sequined, screeching fit, however, I did find a video from Linda Blair's appearance in the film Roller Boogie featuring the disco classic "You Make Me Feel (Mighty Real)" by Sylvester, and that's nearly as good.<br />
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See, that was good, wasn't it? Anyway, the cast takes planes, trains, and automobiles to the setting of the original film, just to remind everyone watching what this movie is supposedly about.<br />
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Because this movie takes place in the 70s, an unconvincing almost sort of plane crash is squeezed in like an unwanted commercial for about a million other movies involving plane crashes from the time period.<br />
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Then Richard Burton takes about 100 million bugs to the face, and he's a trooper about it.<br />
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Spoiler alert: The last few minutes of the film puts its foot on a bunch of paranormal stuff and mashes it right in there because it's desperately needed to liven things up, and there's a flaming car crash, Louise Fletcher being pierced by some barbed wire, another immolation, a building cracking apart and glowing, a serious insect infestation, Linda Blair's dubbed scream, and plummeting home values.<br />
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Exorcist II: The Heretic is ridiculous, dull, plodding, and completely scare-free. Considering the original film's subject matter, Exorcist II: The Heretic is surprisingly heavy with grasshoppers and sequins. Richard Burton, Louise Fletcher, and James Earl Jones do the best they can with the terrible dialogue and meandering plot. I'm not 100% sure what Linda Blair is attempting to do. There's no pea soup, no Mike Oldfield, and no levitating beds, although one does hop around a bit.<br />
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So, strap on your roller skates and save yourself about 1 hour and 54 minutes and get down to the funky trailer, which shows every exciting thing that happens in the movie, including the sequined fit. Consider it a little Krampusnacht gift.<br />
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Stabford Deathragehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15924313514441970164noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7758970191041214638.post-82916377149300887922018-08-22T09:21:00.001-07:002019-02-14T05:52:27.263-08:00Airport '77<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsO2ERO4QYtUmNKt528ObufUa6lxeIwJb20DYFxY003FZYSlLu5wl8WkPF51tE1PBsiciPjJyja4-oRyL1vOuHaeCw_P66xd8XtStDGxu4G5PsFoeJ6a-t3Wliu9yEMxZTTP7A-qcLwQ/s1600/MV5BMzM4OWM1N2UtZTRkZi00NjA4LThiOGUtNDA4ZDc2OTI1YjBkXkEyXkFqcGdeQXVyMjI4MjA5MzA%2540._V1_UX182_CR0%252C0%252C182%252C268_AL_.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsO2ERO4QYtUmNKt528ObufUa6lxeIwJb20DYFxY003FZYSlLu5wl8WkPF51tE1PBsiciPjJyja4-oRyL1vOuHaeCw_P66xd8XtStDGxu4G5PsFoeJ6a-t3Wliu9yEMxZTTP7A-qcLwQ/s400/MV5BMzM4OWM1N2UtZTRkZi00NjA4LThiOGUtNDA4ZDc2OTI1YjBkXkEyXkFqcGdeQXVyMjI4MjA5MzA%2540._V1_UX182_CR0%252C0%252C182%252C268_AL_.jpg" /></a><br />
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Thanks so much to Realweegiemidget for inviting me to take part in this Lee Grant blogathon, although I was reluctant to participate. Longtime readers of my blog will know that I focus on terrible films, or documentaries that explore various subjects in Forteana. Glancing briefly at Lee Grant's filmography, I would be totally out of my element, considering she has been nominated for an Academy Award four times (winning for Shampoo). As far as I can tell, she has never appeared in a film where she is shown crouched behind a boulder in the woods searching for Bigfoot, although she did once get attacked by killer bees.</div>
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Ooh, I'm going to have to bookmark this one for later.<br />
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My fears were proven misplaced. Case in point: Behold her appearance in the Bermuda Triangle-themed disaster film Airport '77, which fits at least two of my criteria for review, one: the fortean phenomena of The Bermuda Triangle, and two: Airport '77 is pretty darn bad.</div>
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A star-studded, sideburned, Dry Look-ed, disaster extravaganza, Airport '77's complicated plot involves the heist of several paintings and other valuables stowed in the belly of an improbably huge plane, as the crooks attempt to steal these items through the use of costume changes, toupees, and knockout gas, which causes the plane to crash into the Bermuda Triangle. </div>
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An improbably huge 3-story jumbo jet filled to bursting with Rembrandts, vintage wines, and antique autos warehoused in its cargo hold, this plane is outfitted with offices, a surprisingly turbulence-proof and chockful-of-breakables lounge area, unseen-but-mentioned sleeping rooms, a laserdisc player, and a table-top Pong video game. Could a plane like this exist? Could it manage to get off the ground? I don't know, and I don't want to do the research to find out. Don't @ me, because I really can't be bothered to care.<br />
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Standing out amongst a crowd of stars, one really can't stop watching Lee Grant, and she devastates everyone in eyeshot with more than a few withering glares. It's obvious who the queen is on this flight, so you'd better watch yourself Olivia De Havilland. Ms. Grant is impeccably pantsuited, and brooched within an inch of her life. She requires one brooch on her outerwear, and one brooch underneath.<br />
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Mrs. Deathrage commented that this film resembles a 'QVC in the skies'.<br />
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Air traffic controllers lose radar contact with the flight, which results in someone tapping the glass screen of the radar (if I recall correctly, this often was a logical fix with cathode-ray TVs at the time), and shrugging their shoulders because, 'Well, they're in the Bermuda Triangle', and that sort of thing often happens with flights, I guess. </div>
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During the painting theft, where the thieves choose between which priceless masterpiece they'd rather burgle with no real place to go, the plane seems to skim across the surface of the ocean in some rather convenient Bermuda Triangle fog, and the plane clips one of those smack-dab-in-the-middle of the Bermuda Triangle oil rigs. The plane's engines flame out, causing someone to crash through plate glass, someone else to fall down the jet's spiral staircase, someone else to get steamrolled by a grand piano, someone else to fly through an intricately carved wooden partition, and someone else to get beaned by a champaign chiller, resulting in some unintentional hilarity.<br />
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The plane settles into the bottom of the ocean, everyone becomes remarkably teary-eyed, and Christopher Lee carries an injured passenger past some obvious camera shadows. Then Darren McGavin grabs a handful of soggy shag carpeting.</div>
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After a partially successful attempt to release an inflatable raft to the surface, where we're judging the success of the attempt on the ratio of survivors, Christopher Lee's lifeless corpse drifts past the aircraft's windows, causing someone to offer an inconsolable Lee Grant a beverage, and by that I mean they forcefully pour the contents of a mini bottle of J&B down her throat. Lee Grant somnambulantly tries to open the door of the plane, and Brenda Vaccaro decks her, keeping the remaining passengers alive for a few minutes.<br />
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Suddenly, the navy shows up, and Mrs. Deathrage comments on the rescuers' short-shorts. The threat that a coxswain might appear is very real.<br />
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Meanwhile, the survivors in the plane break out in a sweat, but I doubt it has anything to do with the short-shorts. </div>
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The film ends in a clown-car like fashion, where dozens of people escape the re-sinking of the plane in a frantic fashion, most of whom I don't recall seeing in the previous two-hours of film while Jimmy Stewart looks off into the distance with a look on his face as though he's pinched a nerve. </div>
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Featuring some fairly convincing underwater footage and startling special effects where several Academy Award winners and nominees are threatened with actual drowning, Airport '77 is surprisingly watchable for something so awful. Lee Grant is magnetic throughout, and is compelling even when the script isn't. Not to be outdone, Olivia De Havilland's blue eyeshadow and oversized sunglasses should have been nominated for dueling Supporting Actor Oscars.<br />
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Stabford Deathragehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15924313514441970164noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7758970191041214638.post-14620779251589685712018-08-09T09:51:00.002-07:002018-08-09T09:51:29.628-07:00Giant From The Unknown<div style="text-align: center;">
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My career has been using the rest of my life as a speed bump, so I'm kicking out some freaked out jams, pushing myself to the limit physically with yoga and T25 as a distraction, burning too much incense to dispel rancorous vapors, getting my diet straight (no more snack cakes?), and trying to plan several family vacations because if I don't take a vacation soon I might flip my gourd. Again. I've been saying this too much lately.<br />
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After being nominated to do one of those "10 Films in 10 Days" twitter things where I commented that I'm probably the worst person to do that because I 'have crap taste, the attention span of a two-year old, and a complete inability to follow simple instructions', my dodgy memory was jogged, and I remembered that I never finished watching Giant From The Unknown because I collapsed in a heap in my chair from physical and mental exhaustion, and I never finished writing the review.</div>
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Full disclosure: I never plan on watching this film to its conclusion, and you can't make me. My memories of the film are foggy at best, so just try to keep up. </div>
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Two archaeologists I guess and a typical 50s female love interest with no visible personality whose only attributes seem to be the ability to cook and clean for the male leads hunt for a giant murderous conquistador supposedly in this desperately awful horror film.<br />
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The male archaeologist points at a map and says "It should be here" which is where he found some sort of Spanish cross on his expedition, and the map has a big X on it that reads "Cross found here", which is always helpful. Meanwhile the love-interest daughter stays behind at the camp to cook and clean because what else could she possibly be good for except the pivotal discovery of the plot point of the film?<br />
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After sweeping the area with a metal detector, the daughter checks her appearance in her compact because accidental archaeology demands a crisp lip-line. After she leaves the compact on a log, a conquistador helmet is found under a thin layer of soil. Science!<br />
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After a montage of found artifacts, a conquistador skeleton is found with a gasp. No, a gasp didn't find it, someone found it and gasped. I just said she used a metal detector. Jeez. Please stay focused.<br />
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Some stock thunder and lightning effects are shown, then the giant conquistador which is not at all a decomposed 400-year old skeleton rises from beneath a suspiciously convenient log. More easily-accessed metal artifacts are found beneath some fallen leaves because I think that's where the art director left them.<br />
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The male lead archaeologist and the love-interest daughter stand in front of a matte painting of a lake for romance because when true love strikes like a stock effect bolt-from-the-blue, no expense is spared except in this and every other aspect of this movie.<br />
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The giant conquistador gets an eyeful of the daughter's bullet-brassiered silhouette as she changes clothes in her illuminated tent (va-va-voom, you saucy conquistador!), which causes her to accidentally shoot a hole in her cot with a gun.<br />
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At this point, I fell asleep, and wandered away forever from this film. I'm assuming everything turned out for the best, but I really don't care that much, and I'd rather you didn't tell me the ending.<br />
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<br />Stabford Deathragehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15924313514441970164noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7758970191041214638.post-54673993851764479402018-07-12T09:36:00.000-07:002018-07-12T09:36:37.255-07:00New Wave: Dare To Be Different<div style="text-align: center;">
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Long-time readers of this blog will note that it is often my modus operandi to obfuscate and distract from my complete absence of knowledge on any number of subjects, my lack of human emotion, and my obsessive need to avoid reflection and contemplation through the act of posting a music video. Expect an abundance of the same with this review.<br />
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Let's get this whole business about the phrase "New Wave" out of the way. An appropriate catch-all misnomer applied to a disparate number of musical groups, it seemingly describes a genre no band was ever a part of. If used to describe the biggest wave of British groups to hit the Billboard charts since the Beatles, and the wave of North American acts shrugging off the shackles of classic rock tropes, the term fits. Unfortunately, the term has also been saddled with an implied insignificance, and coupled with unfortunate sexism and bigotry: New Wave artists dressed in frilly shirts and adorned themselves with outlandish hairstyles, and they produced lightweight pop tunes filigreed with synthesizer embellishments, which were marketed to young girls and homosexuals. If they embraced the term, the artists' careers were a race against the clock, set to expire and molder like white bread. Even the radio station at the center of the film is quick to say it never called itself a New Wave station. In defense of its stance, the film notes the station broke 700 "new music" artists to the tune of 500 million albums sold. Abandoned, neglected, and ridiculed, New Wave is the Rodney Dangerfield of music genres; never getting any respect.<br />
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In operation since the 1950s, WLIR shed their classic rock image, and according to their tagline, dared to be different by buying British import records and playing them on American airwaves, exposing many now-legendary groups to US listeners for the first time. A tiny 3000-watt radio station on Long Island, WLIR was in competition with much larger radio stations in New York, but was miles ahead of them, predicting progressive musical trends and breaking new ground.<br />
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Consisting of classic music video clips and interviews with superstars of the era, music producers, industry insiders, and former DJs, New Wave: Dare To Be Different misses very few iconic groups from the era, and features some interesting first-hand stories of making it big from the music groups WLIR helped make world famous.<br />
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Some spoiled grapes with interviews from classic rock groups that were cast aside with the new format helps provide a humorous touch of balance.<br />
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New Wave: Dare To Be Different is an fascinating, nostalgic look at an oft-maligned musical genre.<br />
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Although not at all relative to this subject, check out my review of the speculative documentary Discovering Bigfoot here:</div>
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<a href="https://culturedvultures.com/stabford-deathrages-netflix-nasties-discovering-bigfoot-2017/">https://culturedvultures.com/stabford-deathrages-netflix-nasties-discovering-bigfoot-2017/</a><br />
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Stabford Deathragehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15924313514441970164noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7758970191041214638.post-90450980972059833592018-06-23T10:58:00.000-07:002018-06-23T10:58:41.375-07:00Yellow Submarine<div style="text-align: center;">
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We live in strange times. I'm not talking about current events, where seemingly nothing is real. What I'm talking about is that we are currently in an epoch where the young people consider The Beatles to be over-rated. <br />
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I just wasn't made for these times.<br />
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I was going to list some of the achievements of The Beatles. Between 1964 and 1970, they released 11 Number One albums, 20 Number One singles, held the Top Five positions in the Billboard Charts, appeared in five feature films, and has the most covered song in history with "Yesterday". The list goes on and on, and it's staggering. So I decided against it.<br />
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From Wikipedia: Writing for AllMusic, music critic Richie Unterberger recognises the Beatles as both "the greatest and most influential act of the rock era" and a group that "introduced more innovations into popular music than any other rock band of the 20th century". In Rolling Stone magazine's Encyclopedia of Rock & Roll (2001), the editors define the band's influence as follows: The impact of the Beatles – not only on rock & roll but on all of Western culture – is simply incalculable … [A]s personalities, they defined and incarnated '60s style: smart, idealistic, playful, irreverent, eclectic, ...no group has so radically transformed the sound and significance of rock & roll. ... [they] proved that rock & roll could embrace a limitless variety of harmonies, structures, and sounds; virtually every rock experiment has some precedent on Beatles records. Four of their albums are in Rolling Stone's 500 Greatest Albums Of All Time's Top Ten.<br />
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Someone might cynically claim that that's "being over-rated", and I would just as cynically recommend that person learn a little musical history further back than last week.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjH6C_EDhq5_ZpmK7n-eNUso5pM9gqIu-TEaGXAOw9DtFY05hdYk_xH1-rSsUcgCMTvjNFlLu2DIclQMezISQIHgGs6KQOU_ld_aaj-akkeTo3TXS9BP8aLoq7ZIWnQ51tbosdXfWHOcw/s1600/Unknown.jpeg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjH6C_EDhq5_ZpmK7n-eNUso5pM9gqIu-TEaGXAOw9DtFY05hdYk_xH1-rSsUcgCMTvjNFlLu2DIclQMezISQIHgGs6KQOU_ld_aaj-akkeTo3TXS9BP8aLoq7ZIWnQ51tbosdXfWHOcw/s400/Unknown.jpeg" /></a></div>
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Surreal, hallucinatory, and Dadaesque, Yellow Submarine is filled with zany, nonsensical adventures, as The Beatles travel in their eponymous vehicle to save Pepperland from the Blue Meanies. Cheeky wordplay, double entendres, and sight-gags abound.<br />
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Strangely enough, this sinister, terrifying, kaleidoscopic, and joyful film was for children. Could have fooled me. But then there's this:</div>
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Referential and self-referential, with snippets from the French National Anthem, Glenn Miller, Greensleeves, and Bach, only a world-conquering creative force such as the Beatles would have the guts to reference themselves, not just once, but twice. Let me remind you this is a pop tune. And how can one not collapse into ugly-faced weeping at the beauty of the harpsichord, the brass, the strings? Impossible. </div>
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And don't get me started on this clip. Gorgeous and revelatory.<br />
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*Eleanor Rigby Youtube Video From Yellow Submarine*<br />
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Whoops, sorry. Looks like I'm unable to embed or link to a 40-second clip of Eleanor Rigby because I suppose a 40-second clip will keep you from purchasing either the remastered Blu-Ray of Yellow Submarine, or adding another to the 5 million copies of Revolver sold as of 2014. Just imagine the tune. Hum along if you'd like. Relax, and float downstream.<br />
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Here's a link to the trailer, as the film is hitting UK theaters for a 50-year anniversary run.<br />
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<iframe allow="autoplay; encrypted-media" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/6MDiZZsgMcI" width="560"></iframe></div>
Stabford Deathragehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15924313514441970164noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7758970191041214638.post-92229294948866270572018-06-03T08:51:00.002-07:002021-02-21T13:27:42.587-08:00Countess Dracula<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgH32TeeSZrCViNhOZbqT7IrLe9nd0E39_een4cw5lxFFASJ3JDo0SjCJRjJMai1aOQ0WBow9tMF9Pz5ysJIsz09AMtlO-MjeMWEpyz1ytAKEQbodZ7wKpXWRT6VAVuSPSb4NSRJSvz9w/s1600/MV5BNzEwZWE3MGYtZDYzZi00MmFhLWE2ODktYWRlMGU1MGQzNjc5XkEyXkFqcGdeQXVyNDc2NjEyMw%2540%2540-1._V1_UX182_CR0%252C0%252C182%252C268_AL_.jpg"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgH32TeeSZrCViNhOZbqT7IrLe9nd0E39_een4cw5lxFFASJ3JDo0SjCJRjJMai1aOQ0WBow9tMF9Pz5ysJIsz09AMtlO-MjeMWEpyz1ytAKEQbodZ7wKpXWRT6VAVuSPSb4NSRJSvz9w/s400/MV5BNzEwZWE3MGYtZDYzZi00MmFhLWE2ODktYWRlMGU1MGQzNjc5XkEyXkFqcGdeQXVyNDc2NjEyMw%2540%2540-1._V1_UX182_CR0%252C0%252C182%252C268_AL_.jpg" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_-1-GXsHigwx8z89_xAAXuS2FpAe1HDTTN5EqG7ttbf6lO4YHEfp6-Hh5xfaOi7UrrJXeBiC08FBR9ioRdsY8_W1UKAhrAzHFdWwU6e6LkSOUgU4usDL1PwCFUbrLY7YPRRZZtxZVgg/s1600/DedVZZ3VMAAt1m1.jpg"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_-1-GXsHigwx8z89_xAAXuS2FpAe1HDTTN5EqG7ttbf6lO4YHEfp6-Hh5xfaOi7UrrJXeBiC08FBR9ioRdsY8_W1UKAhrAzHFdWwU6e6LkSOUgU4usDL1PwCFUbrLY7YPRRZZtxZVgg/s400/DedVZZ3VMAAt1m1.jpg" /></a></div>
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I'm thrilled to be contributing to Barry_Cinematic and Realweegeemidget's Great Hammer-Amicus Blogathon. It's an honor to be considered worthy for inclusion in the blogathon, and by "considered" I really mean "allowed after embarrassingly pleading and wringing my hands in desperation to be included".<br />
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In typical Stabford fashion, I'm cramming my review in at the last minute in spite of nearly three months lead-time because I've been terribly busy reliving my past by being Goth-As-All-Get-Out. Instead of buckling down and writing my review, I've been listening to frightful musics lately, and it feels pretty good to feel this bad.<br />
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Thanks to Youtube's algorithms, this disquieting record was introduced to me. According to The Quietus, Ksiezyc (which translates to Moon in Polish) contains a 'magick that imbued their mix of ancient slavic folk music and 20th century minimalism with a melancholy ambience', and it's pretty darn sweet.</div>
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I also recently did my morning T25 exercise routine to this album by early-70s freak-folk outfit Comus, again thanks to Youtube's magickal algorithms. Described as "notable for its unique blend of progressive rock, folk, psychedelia, and elements of paganism and the macabre", it's perfect for 25 minutes of sweating to T25 Speed 2.0, since it's akin to the sound of being chased through a skeletal, autumnal landscape by torch wielding villagers. The 70s certainly were freaked out. <br />
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However, it's been difficult to listen to any music lately that isn't "The Wheels On The Bus" because the grandchildren have been shrieking to watch Sarah And Duck. They keep shouting, and I quote, 'I DON'T LIKE THIS MUSIC PAHPAH, IT'S DEGENERATE ART!', and I don't need four diapered fascists pointing their fingers at me.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2SmglqUejY-D9pwl2W636Mi_rAoAHztst8R2ch0ObbFzbWt_aPNrAmb6w72NocpPTda6vXUANfqZhFnFS4oEqKlC7tHFYD1oscn2K2v3oUdFiQex74bt4mGBDmW2VALJZ_JrsKIbtUg/s1600/Unknown-1.jpeg"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2SmglqUejY-D9pwl2W636Mi_rAoAHztst8R2ch0ObbFzbWt_aPNrAmb6w72NocpPTda6vXUANfqZhFnFS4oEqKlC7tHFYD1oscn2K2v3oUdFiQex74bt4mGBDmW2VALJZ_JrsKIbtUg/s400/Unknown-1.jpeg" /></a></div>
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Anyway, Sarah And Duck is an animated cartoon for children, and I've seen every episode 100 times but couldn't tell you what happens in any of them. From what I gather, Sarah is a human child who has adventures with her duck sidekick named Duck, and it's gentle and quiet and rather surreal, with plotlines that often involve baked goods, talking planets, lemons, and shallots. Unfortunately, I fall asleep in my chair watching this program, and it's infuriating because I'm no Martin Crane.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0tnwP83Nno0JxuN6yuQrrBXjsUDPA4Lsj6KH2ZTMHnCtawN1sdK1pqjQUmjHiGuCZQ_tQGTKzSTmLHAbkjIgzwA4gsoac2VgGo0TVXMVFX95RHqIX23d_5EOp_V03IZn98C4rVLvfcQ/s1600/e997b6707d0c2ccaaca5e630b05dbeea.jpg"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0tnwP83Nno0JxuN6yuQrrBXjsUDPA4Lsj6KH2ZTMHnCtawN1sdK1pqjQUmjHiGuCZQ_tQGTKzSTmLHAbkjIgzwA4gsoac2VgGo0TVXMVFX95RHqIX23d_5EOp_V03IZn98C4rVLvfcQ/s320/e997b6707d0c2ccaaca5e630b05dbeea.jpg" width="249" /></a></div>
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What does this have to do with Countess Dracula? Nothing really. Anyway, on to the review.<br />
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To choose a film for the blogathon, I had to Google "Worst Hammer film", and honestly, I wasn't exactly successful. The Hammer studio churned out quite a bit of quality product, and even its less successful films wouldn't exactly fit onto a Worst Films Of All Time list. So I picked the worst reviewed film I could find, and here we are.<br />
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The film opens as a peasant gets runs over by the mysteriously-veiled Countess's horsedrawn carriage. Another peasant screams, "Devil woman!", at the carriage, and I can certainly relate to that and this seems like a pretty solid way to begin just about any film. At the reading of a will, the Countess is annoyed that her daughter gets half of her husband's estate. The daughter is en route to the Countess's castle, much to the chagrin of the Countess.<br />
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It's a good a time as any for the countess to take a bath because it's only been about 30 seconds into the film, and the Countess scalds a wench who couldn't manage to cool her bath, then makes the wench peel a peach. The wench is cut by the knife, and the Countess is splashed by the wench's blood. Through some sort of sorcery, the blood makes the Countess appear decades younger. That sounds like an awful lot of work, when everyone knows all one has to do is keep a portrait of themselves in an attic that ages for them, and save themselves the hassle of gory cleanup. Easy-peasy.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoXCCOqLy1jbRImJSA827ZnHtaGewGQv1L9MxP2oHhVPCwtgECj23CZB3R8RcPK3mPhztoj1WFShda7KBRqmvY3wUAucFZwbGMDdRPF-QOmTQQHKaTgPLC82cfz-CTtIKTOojNqEd3cA/s1600/Unknown-3.jpeg"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoXCCOqLy1jbRImJSA827ZnHtaGewGQv1L9MxP2oHhVPCwtgECj23CZB3R8RcPK3mPhztoj1WFShda7KBRqmvY3wUAucFZwbGMDdRPF-QOmTQQHKaTgPLC82cfz-CTtIKTOojNqEd3cA/s400/Unknown-3.jpeg" /></a></div>
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Since baths aren't much to keep the plot moving along, the wench goes missing and so does the Countess's undergarments, and the Captain who has been giving the Countess the old humpty-dumpty tells the wench's hysterical mother to check the whorehouse, causing everyone much consternation.<br />
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A bunch of movie happens. At the 26-minute mark, the Countess assumes the identity of her own daughter, even though her daughter is on the way. I had to watch this part three times to get it, because I kept pulling a Martin Crane and fell asleep. Meanwhile, the daughter is kidnapped, and held captive in a filthy hovel. I'm not sure why.<br />
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The Captain and some old wizard dude fall asleep playing chess, which is where I fell asleep again. The Countess tries to go all Harlequin Romance Novel with a younger man, but the youth-enhancing effects of virgin blood wears off, turning the Countess into an even uglier, older hag. Suddenly, there's a dance routine in lieu of plot. After a tarot card reading, the Countess stabs one of the dancing girls in the neck with a large hair pin, so I guess the dancing really did have something to do with it. After regaining her youth, The Countess gets a literal roll in the hay. We're only 40 minutes into this film, and I've fallen asleep at least 3 times, but I was too drowsy to keep track.<br />
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The daughter weakly tries to escape her kidnapper, and gets her ankle kissed through the wall of the shack she's held in, because why the heck not. Children discover a nude body. The Countess gets uglier every time the virgin blood rejuvenation wears off.<br />
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The Countess has a nightmare as winds and werewolves howl outside her window. Another bellydancer stretches for time. The Countess wanders around her bedchambers shrieking and wailing. I keep falling asleep. My chair is not comfortable.<br />
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After applying the blood of a prostitute with an enormous puff to her face, the rejuvenation fails, causing the Countess much distress. The Captain goes to town and purchases a goat and gets an ugly virgin for free. The daughter escapes her captive, and abruptly falls in a creek. Someone finds piles of nude, bloodless corpses hidden behind barrels. The film ends, and I get a terrible crick in my neck.<br />
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Featuring extravagant head wear, high collars, plunging necklines, labyrinthine sets, facial warts, a dead prostitute in a closet, and a couple of goats, Countess Dracula resembles a period romance that just happens to have hints of horror, which would disappoint viewers looking for some classic Hammer vampire action. Containing lots of dialogue, some dancing, minuscule amounts of horror, and zero Draculas of any variety, someone at the very end of the film says the phrase Countess Dracula, which is the only time Draculas are acknowledged at all, as far as I can recall. Still, it's atmospheric, but that doesn't quite make up for the slow moving plot.<br />
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Stabford Deathragehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15924313514441970164noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7758970191041214638.post-2733830341988406882018-05-22T10:32:00.000-07:002018-05-22T10:32:25.855-07:00The Phantom Cemetery<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMjnD9F7FS2GGXM3Efm1lrsEXIdci9sAZ-SczLLKoBYEY_gIxFBYiGorauxuCL4izsTXBZYE71SP8mYUhF9GyuIC8JgdHYUfGo2jMDOkO9IsktThPGmXk2ueZuaOIQKafGadeg7-kT-w/s1600/61Iq3dijZ5L._RI_SX200_.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMjnD9F7FS2GGXM3Efm1lrsEXIdci9sAZ-SczLLKoBYEY_gIxFBYiGorauxuCL4izsTXBZYE71SP8mYUhF9GyuIC8JgdHYUfGo2jMDOkO9IsktThPGmXk2ueZuaOIQKafGadeg7-kT-w/s400/61Iq3dijZ5L._RI_SX200_.jpg" /></a></div>
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He seems like a nice enough fellow. He just happens to look a little like The Phantom Stranger, except not nearly as cool. Who, you ask? Just hold your horses, we'll get to that.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiq3ojA0eKwRVRYGVhr8oBDRHwMK8rsmmw6KHc_Eu_SoLIRcDqyF5h2YnV9eMGgqZO_fbjzMBS3qbNjDECw_yqEdIopL1GNXdN3HHpGo93AA6tN3qzR66fchnhaBRsKvTVBPTHO8smzGg/s1600/fffphantomstrangersartorial_thumb.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiq3ojA0eKwRVRYGVhr8oBDRHwMK8rsmmw6KHc_Eu_SoLIRcDqyF5h2YnV9eMGgqZO_fbjzMBS3qbNjDECw_yqEdIopL1GNXdN3HHpGo93AA6tN3qzR66fchnhaBRsKvTVBPTHO8smzGg/s320/fffphantomstrangersartorial_thumb.jpg" width="279" /></a></div>
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Phantom Stranger is one of my very favorite comic book characters who never seem to ever really do anything (See also the original Mr. Terrific, the original Red Tornado). Spooky and omnipotent, PS lurks in the upper corner of his own comic books, narrating the goings-on, but rarely getting his gloves dirty.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiN2KmIbO7JIImRTEr6RwYVnTBlMdmMRWlXTWP6ujzJJhKxV-TFOEu4B-MGsxRrOSzcVReYb67F7xra6bAart7kpAhG7l5m0ldU4lioGPgS19CJYQjGKpyKwvU6Ap7QG3dw05PtL578OQ/s1600/0af98cba2ad3098798425b47b820f0df--dc-heroes-the-phantom.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiN2KmIbO7JIImRTEr6RwYVnTBlMdmMRWlXTWP6ujzJJhKxV-TFOEu4B-MGsxRrOSzcVReYb67F7xra6bAart7kpAhG7l5m0ldU4lioGPgS19CJYQjGKpyKwvU6Ap7QG3dw05PtL578OQ/s320/0af98cba2ad3098798425b47b820f0df--dc-heroes-the-phantom.jpg" width="209" /></a></div>
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When worlds are threatened, he spontaneously shows up, spouts some heavy mumbo-jumbo, and splits. It's pretty cool, but frustrating. </div>
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Amazon is being haunted by a whole slew of speculative documentaries with alluring titles such as Medieval Paranormal Activity, The Legend Of Borley Church, Paranormal Confessions, and Castle Of Lost Souls, and they all seem to be hosted by this guy who looks like Phantom Stranger, paranormal investigator Chris Halton.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjx3V0AvYhiKWa70tQpVycq5ZHOx6vTq7ntCnPXXx7w-ksewrJQJoogXrMYGKTjkI_qhNjd5D8if3IwgCODAxW8blYr9YdsrrWUfC4Rqw1r9zuZgHDuzNZjBEzh4xDVsgYAtbiTbYAHfA/s1600/Unknown-2.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjx3V0AvYhiKWa70tQpVycq5ZHOx6vTq7ntCnPXXx7w-ksewrJQJoogXrMYGKTjkI_qhNjd5D8if3IwgCODAxW8blYr9YdsrrWUfC4Rqw1r9zuZgHDuzNZjBEzh4xDVsgYAtbiTbYAHfA/s400/Unknown-2.jpeg" /></a></div>
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<i>See what I mean?</i></div>
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Castle Of Lost Souls has the intriguing synopsis of an alleged haunting in Saint Briavels Castle, built around 1075, which apparently has dark corridors and dank dungeons where all sorts of tortures, hangings, decapitations, and other horrors have occurred. In spite of watching a majority of the documentary, I don't recall seeing any of corridors, dungeons, or tortures. Paranormal Confessions features a synopsis surrounding a double axe murder at an ancient water mill in the year 1698, where the victims were hog tied to a beam and then butchered. Again, no recollection of seeing any of that.<br />
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Anyway, Chris Halton goes to all these supposedly haunted sites, talks a lot, and very little happens, then I fall asleep, slumped over in my chair, usually with a belly full of macaroni and cheese.</div>
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So back to the doc, The Phantom Cemetery features Mr. Halton investigating the infamous Bachelor's Grove Cemetery in Chicago, which is said to be haunted by a lady in white. He walks around in the woods, talking about various feelings and impressions he receives. At one point he complains about a negative smell. (Side note: I watch these programs with subtitles, and the subtitle said, "Crossed their pants" which seems to allude to the smells, and that seems fine to me). After many scenes of walking through a forest, he looks at an algae covered swamp, said that the swamp is dead, and a bullfrog jumps out of the water. In spite of the sudden appearance of the frog, I fell asleep.<br />
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Chris Halton seems genuinely interested in the history of each location, and in spite of a similar appearance to a certain spectral comic book character, seems like an affable guy. His delivery is profoundly dry, which could prompt a late-night audience with a full belly in a comfy chair to unexpectedly nod off.<br />
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Sorry, can't seem to locate trailers for these documentaries, but here's a little something.<br />
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<iframe allow="autoplay; encrypted-media" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/A3WedI6Ej2E" width="560"></iframe></div>
Stabford Deathragehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15924313514441970164noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7758970191041214638.post-20740372553581647902018-05-11T08:14:00.002-07:002018-05-11T08:16:09.016-07:00Love And Saucers<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRlPah1YRhmQv-Zhq_amgAdWpqhONYLz6V3VmuOo4lAY0zBkNaPe3Wb2HFgBvoovs_9RLCSuXbTlusGwjBWVT_XcYz4d_t9sg6EDeUwFo4qyrhmYOdtxVKH3qCqZ8xUYujfo7oTmXJ-w/s1600/MV5BYmZmYzQ0MjItNGJjMi00YWFiLWIzYzgtOTNhNWNiYzBiOTljXkEyXkFqcGdeQXVyNjg3MzM1OTM%2540._V1_UY268_CR4%252C0%252C182%252C268_AL_.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRlPah1YRhmQv-Zhq_amgAdWpqhONYLz6V3VmuOo4lAY0zBkNaPe3Wb2HFgBvoovs_9RLCSuXbTlusGwjBWVT_XcYz4d_t9sg6EDeUwFo4qyrhmYOdtxVKH3qCqZ8xUYujfo7oTmXJ-w/s400/MV5BYmZmYzQ0MjItNGJjMi00YWFiLWIzYzgtOTNhNWNiYzBiOTljXkEyXkFqcGdeQXVyNjg3MzM1OTM%2540._V1_UY268_CR4%252C0%252C182%252C268_AL_.jpg" /></a></div>
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A VHS enthusiast creates explicit paintings of his multi-decade romance with an extraterrestrial in this disturbing documentary.<br />
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Between clips of the classic horror films Son Of Frankenstein and the Uninvited, rather alarming, crudely rendered oil paintings of alien encounters are shown which explores the alleged, unconventional relationship between the painter and a sturdy female extraterrestrial. Some of the highlights include a painting of a figure in the woods surrounded by classic aliens wearing blue jumpsuits, another painting of a young boy looking through the foundation of a house to the legs of aliens wearing blue jumpsuits lurking outside, and one of a woman inserting a rod into the artist's nose.<br />
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Difficult to watch but nearly impossible to turn away from, Love And Saucers explores a disquieting viewpoint of a UFO enthusiast subset, one which claims ongoing extraterrestrial contact and arguably "beneficial" inter-species physical relationships, where each encounter grows more outlandish and elaborate with each rendering. Fans of outsider art and Forteana may enjoy the documentary, others will find it off-putting. </div>
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Speaking of Forteana and off-putting subject matter, I said a bunch of stuff over at Cultured Vultures about the speculative documentary Discovering Bigfoot, where I made several jokes about apples and Bigfoot excrement. Check it out if you're into that sort of thing.</div>
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<a href="https://culturedvultures.com/stabford-deathrages-netflix-nasties-discovering-bigfoot-2017/">https://culturedvultures.com/stabford-deathrages-netflix-nasties-discovering-bigfoot-2017/</a></div>
Stabford Deathragehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15924313514441970164noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7758970191041214638.post-4010897758177370312018-05-08T10:13:00.001-07:002018-05-08T10:14:46.243-07:00The Gamma People<div style="text-align: center;">
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A car uncouples from a train, and curiously overalled children divert it to an isolated, mountainous country named Gudavia, a land where no trains ever come. The only two passengers on the train car, a boorish American and a stuffy Brit, are apprehended and thrown into a dungeon-like prison for being spies. Meanwhile, scientists in satin jumpsuits armed with an enormous laser gun scientifically impregnate human subjects dressed in odd military garb with electricity, turning them into idiots.<br />
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The two men are abruptly released, but they cannot leave the country because Gudavia's sole automobile is being used for official Gudavian business out of the country, which sounds fine. The Brit attempts to send a telegram, but it can't be sent because telegrams are only sent on special occasions. A young girl plays the piano as an oddly Aryan young man scowls.<br />
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Suddenly, there is a hubbub in the streets, and an old dude says, "In the end, the murdering will cease", because of course he does, and a guy with an extravagant hat chalks it all up to hysteria. In spite of the hubbub, the hysteria, and the murdering, the Brit wonders aloud about identity of his milliner. Somnambulant figures sneak up on the Brit, and they scatter after someone blows a whistle.<br />
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The pair meets up with a scientist with a double identity. This mysterious scientist pulled a disappearing act some time ago due to some sort of political thing (hint-hint, nudge-nudge), and he says some stuff about gamma rays. They then meet a Frau, who has children making monster masks for an upcoming festival, and there's almost nothing sinister about that at all.<br />
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Some stuff happens. The Brit chases a boy and falls in some water, the zombie guys throw rocks, a mule makes an appearance, and several people fall off a cliff.<br />
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The carnival that is certainly not a special occasion and that was forbidden to happen happens, and it's pretty freaked out, which means it's pretty cool, and the festival-goers wear giant monster heads, which I'm always a big fan of. Don't worry, since it's not too bad it only lasts a couple of minutes.<br />
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The Gamma People is a comic thriller, and it isn't particularly comic or thrilling.<br />
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Stabford Deathragehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15924313514441970164noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7758970191041214638.post-73151663322253879372018-04-27T10:00:00.001-07:002018-04-27T10:00:47.695-07:00Miami ConnectionScattered around my home are many small journals. They're on shelves, stacked on end tables, and they fill various drawers and cabinets. Within them are my notes on the bad films I watch late at night, scribbled in the dark. They're mostly illegible, written in a shorthand I often struggle later to decipher. I try my best to finish the reviews, but sometimes one will slip by me. This is one of those reviews.<br />
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In a city where everyone seems to know martial arts, dudes sit around and wait for a nighttime delivery. Ninjas approach. Surprise! They're delivering drugs, and it's not very surprising. Suddenly, a henchman gets a throwing star stuck in his neck as a repetitive synth soundtrack plays. Disposable extras appear on motorcycles, resulting in a terrible gun battle and sword fight. A band named Dragon Sound consisting almost entirely of John Oates lookalikes performs shirtless with Linn drum.<br />
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A classroom of students at a community college begins programming CPUs as big as a microwave oven, and meanwhile, an unconvincing rumble in the school's parking lot is averted through terrible dialogue. A shouting match at a nightclub ends abruptly. Back at the ninja hideout, ninjas practice ninja stuff, then everyone has lunch. Dragon Sound performs another song with pyrotechnics about ninjas in a style reminiscent of Pat Benatar, which should annoy Pat Benatar.<br />
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Carloads of men yell at one another and wave sticks around. Shirtless guys in a room decorated by an inexplicable Leif Garrett poster argue over a letter. Then everyone goes to the beach, gets pelted by shoes, and unappetizingly make out. Back at the community college, people spar in slo-mo. After someone gets their nose pinched by toes, everyone enjoys a Pepsi.<br />
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Some guys try to dine-and-dash, and then revealing short shorts and camera shadows make an appearance. After breakfast and more mail, a boom mic appears. Then ninjas run across a bridge.<br />
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In the rock'em-sock'em world of Miami Connection, Florida seems soley populated by 40 or 50 male characters and one woman, and they're all martial artists who practice an amusing form of martial arts that always defeats someone with a weapon. Featuring terrible acting, a terrible script, terrible music, terrible cinematography, terrible lighting, and terrible fight choreography, Miami Connection is pretty terrible, and it appears to be made up almost entirely of montage.<br />
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Stabford Deathragehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15924313514441970164noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7758970191041214638.post-65134585688235547972018-04-25T09:20:00.001-07:002018-04-25T09:20:59.734-07:00Attack Of The Mushroom People<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Currently, I'm on hour 3 of listening to La Monte Young's 5-hour long improvised solo piano work The Well-Tuned Piano.<br />
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What does that have to do with Attack Of The Mushroom People? Nothing, really.<br />
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Just thought I'd throw that out there. Cut to film.<br />
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A man is locked away in a psychiatric ward, and he is our narrator, which isn't a good sign. A young woman sings aboard a boat backed by green screen, then the boat hits some rough seas, and then it cuts to smooth sailing. After some turbulent, Gilligan's Island-like ocean footage, people seem to manage playing cards below deck in spite of ship-sinkingly dangerous waves. Piloting the ship is a fellow wearing sunglasses. A female says she's seasick, which prompts someone to decide that's a good enough reason to turn back despite the obvious typhoon.<br />
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A giant steamer heads directly toward the tiny ship. Someone weakly waves to try to stop the inevitable collision, but alas, it was just a dream. Finally, lost and adrift without a mast, the castaways discover land. Leaving their boat, they all bellyflop into the beach, as one does when one reaches the shore of a deserted island.<br />
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After eating a suspect berry and finding a tiny pool of water, they run slowly along the foggy beach and discover a shipwreck that's just crawling with fungus, which they promptly get all over them. Some half-hearted scientific inquiry follows, where radioactivity is briefly discussed. A giant mushroom in a box is discovered. Sunglass guy goes below and sneakily eats Spam.<br />
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After tons of movie, a mushroom person finally appears, shuffling slowly down the hallway toward them. Cut to next morning, and they all claim it was a ghost. Then everyone bickers.<br />
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More movie happens, with zero mushroom people or attacks by them. The castaways argue over canned goods.<br />
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Mushrooms grow at great speed with dramatic music accompaniment. After a long walk in the rain, someone is talked into eating mushrooms, then showgirls do flips. It's fairly psychedelic, and it's a welcome change of scenery from jungle foliage and button mushrooms. Finally, someone is chased by mushrooms. It's not very interesting.<br />
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The mushrooms attack, and it's exactly what you would expect; lots of shuffling and an over-abundance of dusty spores. Someone loses an arm. A few of the mushroom people look like broccoli. The victims take on an appearance of half-human mushroom hybrids. I'm suddenly hungry for stir-fry, or maybe a nice pasta.<br />
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<a href="https://www.delish.com/cooking/recipe-ideas/recipes/a31482/mushroom-marsala-bowties-recipe-ghk0311/">https://www.delish.com/cooking/recipe-ideas/recipes/a31482/mushroom-marsala-bowties-recipe-ghk0311/</a><br />
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A vegetarian chicken substitute would work fine in that recipe, JSYK.<br />
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Attack Of The Mushroom People is pretty boring until last last few minutes of the film. Mushroom enthusiasts would be wise to skip right to the bonkers ending.<br />
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Stabford Deathragehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15924313514441970164noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7758970191041214638.post-45526123665005511722018-03-30T10:22:00.000-07:002018-03-30T10:25:05.711-07:00How To Build A Time Machine<div style="text-align: center;">
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Something alarming happened to me recently. While perusing Wikipedia, as I often do, I stumbled upon an entry for a philosophy called hauntology, and I couldn't be more upset about it. I was under the assumption that I alone was "haunted by the nostalgia of lost futures", and just for once I'd like to be seen as the visionary that I am, and not some Johnny-Come-Lately to a philosophy coined by Jacques Derrida in 1993. Don't you just hate it when that happens?<br />
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Here I am, sitting here minding my own business listening to the cheesy, futuristic lounge of Frank Comstock and His Orchestra's "Music From Outer Space", with a tab open to an online emulator for the Roland TR-808 drum machine that I will never use, and watching a documentary about men who are trying to build time machines, and who even does all that? Apparently, not just me, or else these things wouldn't exist. Or would they?<br />
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I suppose there are people out there who are "exploring ideas related to temporal disjunction, retrofuturism, cultural memory, and esoteric cultural references from the past", and those people need to get out of my scene and its rich, ironic aesthetic. This town ain't big enough for the both of us.<br />
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Again, here I am, trying to be as original as all get-out, and there are others out there that are into "vintage analog synthesisers, library music, old science-fiction and pulp horror programs (including the soundtracks of the BBC Radiophonic Workshop), musique concrète and found sounds, dub and English psychedelia, and 1970s public informational films.", and why are those people copying everything I do? Get out of my scene, you bunch of poseurs.<br />
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Here I sit, heartbroken for the lack of hovering, anti-gravity vehicles because you all insist on cars, and lo and behold, someone has already pined over it.<br />
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This was supposed to be the future, and it sucks.<br />
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Thanks for nothing.<br />
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Anyway, How To Build a Time Machine is an interesting documentary about two men who created their own time machines. One guy is a film professional who worked on Pee Wee's Playhouse, and built a hand tooled marble, brass, and mahogany replica of the original machine from the 1960 film The Time Machine directed by George Pal. The other subject of the documentary is a scientist who is attempting to create an actual, working time machine utilizing a ring of lasers that drags a neutron around a circle of light. Throughout the film, explanations of film techniques including stop motion, time lapse, and montage, and discussions of the theory of relativity and black holes are integrated into footage of the building of each machine.<br />
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An astonishing moment occurs in the film when the film-maker visits a guy who owns the original time machine prop from the film, and casually shows the collector has the original metal skeleton of the King Kong puppet, and the costume from the 1940s serial The Adventures of Captain Marvel, which caused me to gasp in amazement.<br />
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Don't even get me started on how I feel about the new Shazam film, slated for release in 2019, which is in the future. That's a discussion for another day, which will also be in the future.<br />
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Anyway, How to Build A Time Machine is a fascinating look at obsession, regret, and the struggle with imperfection.<br />
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*All the quotes are attributed to the original wikipedia article on hauntology, found at this link if you're interested, but seriously, get out of my scene.</div>
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<a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hauntology">https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hauntology</a></div>
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Stabford Deathragehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15924313514441970164noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7758970191041214638.post-87754900852604251932018-03-23T10:19:00.000-07:002018-03-23T10:21:49.376-07:00Vampire Skeletons<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCwd4fMACFNCcjQqZNQmgVRVaTntTFpw2U2TNtbIpdW924_SHRikfrP3nGKyY98o3gazwiwweS_WkoRZnYKJUTbwjC6l1iCrIHh5J4RQL4KWEI5YJnl9rj5WTDdH51d4A1tqbIpht_Rg/s1600/images.jpeg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCwd4fMACFNCcjQqZNQmgVRVaTntTFpw2U2TNtbIpdW924_SHRikfrP3nGKyY98o3gazwiwweS_WkoRZnYKJUTbwjC6l1iCrIHh5J4RQL4KWEI5YJnl9rj5WTDdH51d4A1tqbIpht_Rg/s400/images.jpeg" /></a></div>
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Like, honestly, who wouldn't click on a title like that? Vampire. Skeletons.<br />
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A documentary about a recent archaeological find of a medieval burial in Ireland where the unfortunate people were mutilated in an effort to keep them from returning as vampires, Vampire Skeletons features footage of archaeological digs and grisly stories of the undead. Oh yeah, and startling images of unearthed graves containing skulls with large stones shoved in the jaws.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0O0k_9w-ECu0xOeGFb4b00wh8JZYcNPq3LG4bSuI8IYQ3_Zh-HbHDsTvt1PxqeGRsMOrjLG2ollqZebiNXLbkdDeJxroWJK4OSwHSsfSOXU3vcNoioZXRVgvM73YSNUTWlHOzf94b1g/s1600/images-1.jpeg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0O0k_9w-ECu0xOeGFb4b00wh8JZYcNPq3LG4bSuI8IYQ3_Zh-HbHDsTvt1PxqeGRsMOrjLG2ollqZebiNXLbkdDeJxroWJK4OSwHSsfSOXU3vcNoioZXRVgvM73YSNUTWlHOzf94b1g/s400/images-1.jpeg" /></a></div>
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Scientists give explanations of how corpses can sometime explode underground due to gasses, and how they make a popping noise above ground. Also, the bodies can also contort wildly in their graves, which give the suggestion the corpses became reanimated. The stones could have been used to keep a soul from reentering the body, becoming undead, and haunting the living.<br />
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Through body mutilation, other forms of deviant burials and grisly, lurid folktales, the idea of the undead was actually fostered by the early church, where they allowed villagers to believe souls could escape the horrors of purgatory, climb back into their rotting corpses, and terrorize the living. For instance, a story of recently deceased men who wandered around the countryside carrying their own coffins on their backs was retold. Revenants were heard lurked outside homes calling out to villagers, and then the villagers coincidently died mysteriously of plague some time later. Dead villagers were sometimes tried for crimes supposedly committed after death. The hearts of those rumored to be able to return from the dead were being torn out of their corpses, and when the hearts were burned, ravens allegedly flew up out of the smoke. And lastly, there was a story of a witch sewn up in a stag skin, placed in a stone sarcophagus, wrapped in chains, and having incantations said over her grave for three days. Unfortunately, the Beast rode in on a black horse and swept her away from her grave, which caused the witch to return and haunt the village forever.<br />
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Histories of the legend of the vampire are told, complete with accounts of staking, burning, beheading, and other gruesome attempts to keep the undead at bay.<br />
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Naturally, the documentary recounts the modern legend of the vampire, with brief footage of Nosferatu and a visit to Whitby Castle, the setting for the Bram Stoker novel Dracula. Vampire Skeletons is a surprisingly horrific documentary, and it's pretty cool.<br />
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Sorry, there doesn't seem to be a trailer, but the full documentary is on Amazon Prime.Stabford Deathragehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15924313514441970164noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7758970191041214638.post-25332237357850543482018-03-09T08:30:00.000-08:002018-03-09T08:30:38.696-08:00Zodiac<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4haI9S-o2BTvSIl-4G4-rfGmx-8E0gJeXWHoWfCBjltTtZAiVC7UoBgIN4Lo7nlBStcHmITvUgIDPewqfR37oRz4G8zASBSikXzfnU3aodZ2kNk668mc0dePWR1XrOpbsZssNJRcTbw/s1600/MV5BMTQxNjc2NzAwNF5BMl5BanBnXkFtZTcwMDg3NzMzMw%2540%2540._V1_UX182_CR0%252C0%252C182%252C268_AL_.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4haI9S-o2BTvSIl-4G4-rfGmx-8E0gJeXWHoWfCBjltTtZAiVC7UoBgIN4Lo7nlBStcHmITvUgIDPewqfR37oRz4G8zASBSikXzfnU3aodZ2kNk668mc0dePWR1XrOpbsZssNJRcTbw/s400/MV5BMTQxNjc2NzAwNF5BMl5BanBnXkFtZTcwMDg3NzMzMw%2540%2540._V1_UX182_CR0%252C0%252C182%252C268_AL_.jpg" /></a></div>
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Mrs. Deathrage uncharacteristically asked to watch this film. First, a little backstory: Over the past few months, we had been accidentally watching History Channel's Hunt For The Zodiac Killer, which is one of those overlong investigative reality programs involving too many recaps and flashbacks following new examinations into the lurid, unsolved serial killings in California during the late 60s. Making five episodes seem like 500, each episode runs over and over ground it has covered to keep eyeballs on the program, and it's extremely effective.<br />
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So, when Mrs. Deathrage suddenly expressed interest in the film about the Zodiac Killings by David Fincher, I was pretty thrilled. I was under the impression she was intrigued by the ciphers, the investigation, the killer's maniacal taunting of several California police investigations, and wanted to see Fincher's take on the material.<br />
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Obviously, I was somewhat curious as to why she was so interested in watching Zodiac. Unfortunately, I made the terrible mistake of asking. The reason she wanted to watch it is because, and I quote, 'It's full of hot guys', and I really should have known.<br />
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I suppose if that is what it's going to take to get my wife to watch a nearly 3-hour long police procedural full of cryptography, handwriting analysis, and unsolvable riddles, then so be it.<br />
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This is my third viewing of Zodiac, and every time I get something new out of it. This time, it has come to my attention that composer David Shire used textures from Charles Ives' piece entitled The Unanswered Question to represent the haunted, obsessed cartoonist Robert Graysmith (played by Jake Gyllenhaal), and my mind is blown.<br />
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Serene strings provide a steady, unwavering background. A distant trumpet asks a question, seemingly oblivious to the tempo of the strings. The woodwinds try to answer, but ultimately give up in atonal frustration. David Shire could easily have used any unsettling orchestral music to symbolize Graysmith's never-ending search for the answer to Zodiac's puzzles, but to use this specific work adds a lovely, subliminal depth to Gyllenhaal's dissonant, inquisitive character. Amazing. </div>
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Stabford Deathragehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15924313514441970164noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7758970191041214638.post-90224161052166893942018-03-07T15:54:00.000-08:002018-03-07T15:56:31.858-08:00MercyBaking could be considered an apt metaphor for my life.<br />
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I don't bake. It requires science, which is something I've always been interested in. Unfortunately, science involves a bunch of rules which must be followed. I don't often follow the rules.<br />
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My family threw me in the back of a car and drove me out to an ancient flour mill last weekend. I'm not 100% certain why, but I'm assuming someone needed flour. I didn't really need any flour, since I don't bake. The building was a well-preserved, 140-year old, functioning mill, with creaking wood floors and walls equipped with wooden shelves, stocked to bursting with flours, sauces, mixes, and various other things required for baking, and because I'm an idiot, I spent $40 on a couple of bottles of breakfast syrups, a chocolate sauce, and a brownie mix. I'm not sure why. I guess I just got caught up in the atmosphere.<br />
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I blame it all on the gingham. Old-timey wooden baskets, lined with gingham fabric, filled with brownie mixes. Yeah, that was probably it.<br />
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That gingham will get ya.<br />
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A moment ago I was compelled to attempt to bake this ridiculous brownie mix into something edible, which is a ludicrous idea. 95% of the things I bake turn into pastries of regret.<br />
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I picked up the mix, and read the instructions. Seems simple enough, "Preheat oven to 350 degrees, and grease a 13x9 inch pan. Do not use butter".<br />
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It only takes three steps for everything to go wrong.<br />
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Becoming irate, I stared at the package. How dare these flour mill people tell me what to do? I'll use butter if I want to, test kitchens and their expertise be damned. And maybe I don't want to use a 13x9 pan? Maybe I'll make the damned thing in a bundt pan, just to show these people and their 140-year old flour mill they aren't the boss of me? I'll throw the lot into a bowl, give it a quick stir, butter the crap out of a bundt pan, sling the slop into it, angrily jam it into the oven, and then be completely surprised when the results are less than desirable.<br />
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Reconsidering, I put the mix back into the cabinet. Mrs. Deathrage should handle this, I think. I don't really want any brownies right now anyway.<br />
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It's not the brownies, really, or the flour mill. And it's not as though I can't follow a recipe.<br />
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When I cook, I follow recipes all the time. Sort of. Well, with a few modifications. And a tweak or two. And some substitutions.<br />
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Upon reflection, maybe I really can't follow a recipe.<br />
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It starts out fine, then I'm all like, "Like hell I'm doing that. I'll do this instead. It'll turn out OK". But with cooking, substitutions can be easily made. It doesn't work that way with baking. I'm not sure why, and I don't want anyone to explain it to me.<br />
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So the metaphor is this, I think. Even though I have the recipe, and I know how it might turn out, I'll throw caution to the wind to do it my way, rushing headlong into realms I know to avoid, only to be greeted with culinary disaster. And then drive to the bakery and buy brownies made by a brownie professional anyway. Is that even a metaphor? Who knows?<br />
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Anyway, speaking of creaky old buildings filled with disaster, I watched the Netflix thriller Mercy quite some time ago, and never got around to finishing the review. Maybe I should've left it in the cabinet. Here it is anyway.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFS51C4jcQZRxGSqBWzdFS2ZsNudd3yDMMluExNQz1xjIWNrl69mnvNvHJqvcpcfSXQZqJr9VbestYNG_2aJTZHRhLXybOU_cgQV09MUugVk_49XL7smxYseHyNkhIYssaHzAo0wqY-w/s1600/MV5BY2I3MWZmMDEtMzYxNy00MTJiLTg4NmMtMGM2NDFjNzg5MDE2L2ltYWdlL2ltYWdlXkEyXkFqcGdeQXVyMjMyODE4NDU%2540._V1_UY268_CR4%252C0%252C182%252C268_AL_.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFS51C4jcQZRxGSqBWzdFS2ZsNudd3yDMMluExNQz1xjIWNrl69mnvNvHJqvcpcfSXQZqJr9VbestYNG_2aJTZHRhLXybOU_cgQV09MUugVk_49XL7smxYseHyNkhIYssaHzAo0wqY-w/s400/MV5BY2I3MWZmMDEtMzYxNy00MTJiLTg4NmMtMGM2NDFjNzg5MDE2L2ltYWdlL2ltYWdlXkEyXkFqcGdeQXVyMjMyODE4NDU%2540._V1_UY268_CR4%252C0%252C182%252C268_AL_.jpg" /></a></div>
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Four asshole brothers and their crotchety father bicker in a lonely farmhouse over the fate of their seriously ill, bedridden mother in this not-quite-thrilling thriller.<br />
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The relationship between the two pairs of morose, mono-syllabic, squabbling brothers is explored for the first half-hour, where they are concerned about getting cut out of an inheritance once their mother kicks the bucket, and it's established fairly quickly that everyone standing upright is an enormous ass.<br />
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The other female character that isn't silent and trapped in a bed is slightly introduced and her relationship with one of the interchangeable brothers is momentarily hinted at, and her only reason for being is to be endangered in the woods later and briefly advocating for the comatose mother.<br />
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One brother awakens to find the TV on, the phone cord ripped out, the side door open, all their tires flattened, and the half-brothers missing, when a duo of masked villains are shown lurking in the woods. Breathless running and shaky cam commences, and dialogue consisting of 'Go, go, go.' and 'C'mon', occurs.<br />
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Just to keep everyone up to speed, let's take a quick roll call of the characters so far. There's been one doctor who makes house calls, one dad, two brothers, one female to be endangered later, two half-brothers, and one groaning, invalid mother. While I'm no fan of math, one would have to assume that the masked villains would be two of these 8 characters.<br />
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At 49 minutes, the movie reboots and attempts to fill in the blanks, which are numerous, resulting in algebra. While I appreciate the attempt, and find the ploy interesting, I still have many problems with this.<br />
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First, I don't think the filmmakers have ever spent the night in an old farmhouse in the country. It's very dark. It's very quiet. Farmhouses creak loudly, even when masked intruders aren't wrecking the place. I once spent the night in a supposedly haunted Shaker village turned hotel complex, miles and miles from the nearest bakery, where the guests' collective idea of a raucous good time was sitting in a rocker and knitting, and I swear I could hear every person in the arthritic, nearly 150-year old building breathing, even through the ear-shattering roar of my own metropolis-induced tinnitus.<br />
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Remarkably, even though parts of the farmhouse in Mercy are broken by boot-wearing villains, furniture is abruptly rearranged, people plummet down stairs, and wrestle in claw-footed bathtubs; no one seems to wake up. I ate a pecan pie in bed while watching horror films on my computer at 9 pm because there was fuck-all to do while staying at the Shaker village, and I was worried my chewing might disturb the rest of the building, but not that concerned to stop eating, leaving pie crumbs in the rather spartan Shaker-style bed, or that anything might stop the knitting. Side-bar: The next morning at the Shaker village, there was a goat-milking seminar that I avoided.<br />
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OK, so I guess I really only have one problem with the plot, and it involves home improvements, or the lack thereof.<br />
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No, wait. Like nearly all of the episodes of Scooby Doo, I don't think it's quite fair of a mystery to leave out important information, only to introduce it later to bulk up a thinly-drawn story. Sure, discovery is one thing, but to intentionally leave out clues, characters, puzzle pieces, and plot-points is another. How can you have a Velma "It was Farmer Jenkins!" moment if the guy who did it in the whodunit wasn't even in the first half of the story?<br />
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At 57 minutes, a mysterious, ancient VHS tape is found, where the mother shown is shilling for a religious organization and getting a nosebleed.<br />
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At 72 minutes, the doctor who makes house calls appears and says, 'It might seem like what we're doing is wrong', which is an understatement, and then there's a sunrise. Now I know what you're going to say. You're going to say, "Hey Stabford, implying that the doctor did it sounds quite a bit like a spoiler, and would negate your claim that the guy who did it wasn't introduced in the beginning of the film."<br />
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That shows you how much you know, smarty-pants. There's a big twist and reveal, and the person or persons you thought did it in the first place did it, or did they, but then again, what exactly was done? Karmic retribution of abuse, administered unintentionally, the consequences bumbled through and unconsidered? Heck if I know.<br />
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Then someone administers a complex level of medical treatment and an experimental dose of medications under extreme duress and with zero training which seems somewhat unlikely.<br />
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Mercy takes a novel approach to a well-worn trope, and it's slow going until it abruptly puts the pedal to the metal. Good and evil, heroes and villains, are all seen through a murky glass, which is fine, I suppose, but I for one would like my nihilism served straight up.<br />
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Hmm. After watching that trailer, there was a lot more creaking in it than I remembered. Forget I said anything.</div>
Stabford Deathragehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15924313514441970164noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7758970191041214638.post-24976552944105792812018-03-02T10:44:00.001-08:002018-03-02T10:45:11.647-08:00No review this time...Tom Petty said, 'The waiting is the hardest part', and he's almost right.<br />
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In a continuation of a theme from 2017, I've allowed circumstances to dictate my creativity. Throughout the month of February, I either prepared for something to happen, recovered from the thing that happened, or sat in dread waiting for the next thing to happen. That's fine, I suppose.</div>
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At the beginning of the month, I had a triumphant trip to Los Angeles, and by "triumphant", I mean, "physically and mentally draining, resulting in caffeine abuse, near starvation, and stultifying boredom".</div>
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OK, maybe near starvation is a bit of an exaggeration, because I had plenty of bagels, Romaine lettuce, and Rice Krispy Treats to keep me going. And I might be going a bit over the top as far as boredom goes, because I find myself to be endlessly fascinating, and I can keep myself entertained outside a conference room. And since I slept very little and somehow managed to continue functioning, I couldn't say I was completely physically and mentally drained, because I'm nearly superhuman and can push through any inane Powerpoint presentation when fueled by enough coffee. Unapproved offsite lemon ricotta pancakes and 2 a.m. liquor store Hostess cupcakes can be effective motivators. </div>
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I think I achieved most of my goals. Since time was limited, I could only do so much. Here's a rundown of what I accomplished:</div>
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<li>Being completely awesome</li>
<li>Wearing enviable shoes</li>
<li>Going to the Beetlejuice-themed bar</li>
<li>In spite of all attempts from the Corporate offices, continuing to live</li>
<li>Taking corny snapshots of the Walk Of Fame</li>
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Please find enclosed corny photos of the Walk Of Fame and my enviable shoes:</div>
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The shoes were a provocative statement, inspired by the album Violator by Depeche Mode, featuring the hit singles Policy Of Truth and Enjoy The Silence. Make of that what you will. I'm awfully proud of my shoes' subversive genius.</div>
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Overall, I feel the trip was very effective, and I think they got a lot out of my little visit. What I got out of it is immeasurable, and can't be included in a Powerpoint presentation.<br />
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Meanwhile, I'm working on some stuff. </div>
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Stabford Deathragehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15924313514441970164noreply@blogger.com0