Amongst the saxophone players, mimes, and roller disco enthusiasts of Central Park roam a slightly eccentric group of bird-watchers. Birders: The Central Park Effect features interviews with some of them and many shots of the colorful birds they hunt. I once saw a nuthatch pulling seeds from a pinecone in Central Park, and by "nuthatch" I mean "homeless guy wearing nothing more than a pair of dingy tighty-whiteys" and "pulling seeds from a pinecone" I mean "taking an impromptu bath in the sink of the men's room near Belvedere Castle at about 3 in the afternoon". Central Park is just chockfull of wildlife.
A notary arrives at an castle to settle a will, and suddenly Barbara Steele rises from behind a couch and ominously says, "My Husband has been dead for a year" as thunder cracks which seems perfectly fine because there's almost never anything to worry about if you find yourself staying at an castle with Barbara Steele. So like I said, the notary arrives at this castle where plague victims were stored because why wouldn't they be, because the castle's owner who's been dead a year sent him a letter because why wouldn't he, and he has to sleep in the room where the castle's owner died because of course he does, and this room he has to sleep in has a cabinet of severed hands just outside the door because where else would you keep them, and again, all that seems just fine. You sure in the heck aren't going to get those kind of accommodations at the Red Roof Inn. Then the notary listens to a recording of the dead man recounting the legend of the Diabolical Plague Spreaders, and the Diabolical Plague Spreaders sounds like a pretty bad-ass Swedish death metal band, and that also seems fine.
The next morning, the notary goes to start up his Chitty Chitty Bang Bang-mobile when he discovers he has a bloody owl corpse lodged in his engine, and he says, "What rotten luck!" which seems fine and the appropriate thing to say at a time like that. Sometime later, the notary stumbles upon the body of the pharmacist/mayor of the town whose face is drippy from acid (not drippy from acid in the "drippy Salvador Dali clock melting over a tree branch because I took LSD at the Grateful Dead concert" sense, but the "some fiend splashed the sulfuric variety on me and now my dissolving face-skin is sliding into the pocket of my overcoat" sense, just to clear that whole thing up). Someone says, "The Corpse Collectors always come around when someone is doomed" and then Barbara Steele takes a bubble bath; which both the Corpse Collectors and Barbara Steele Takes A Bubble Bath sound like Swedish death metal bands and that also seems fine.
After what seems like forever as the cast discusses the events that have taken place so far, some chick that is not Barbara Steele sitting naked by a fountain in the dark sings a jaunty tune called, "Death Is Approaching" and the notary decides to investigate the dark castle with only a candle as spooky chords are hammered on a piano because that seems fine. Meanwhile, a guy sitting in a wheelchair rolls himself onto a sword hari-kari-style, and someone's plaguey corpse hand caresses the shoulder of his now-lifeless body as theremin music plays because that seems fine and the appropriate thing to do. Then all the crypts in the castle's vicinity slide open for some reason because of course they are and why wouldn't they.
So yeah, Terror Creatures From The Grave has fog, cobwebs, doors that close by themselves, thunder and lightning, howling winds, open graves, long shadows cast by the figure of some unknown horrible thing, and sudsy bubble baths, but very few actual terror creatures from the grave which is actually fine because Terror Creatures From The Grave didn't really need them.
The legendary Joseph Cotten, star of Citizen Kane, The Magnificent Ambersons, Gaslight, Shadow Of A Doubt, and The Third Man stars in this horror film that certainly isn't as good as any of those films. Did you know Joseph Cotten appeared in 3 movies and 4 TV shows the year Lady Frankenstein was released? Neither did I! That's quite a track record. He certainly was busy in 1971. Upon reflection, maybe he should have been a little more selective, but a gig's a gig, I guess.
Anyway, Lady Frankenstein has all the usual Frankenstein elements plus some gauzy nightgowns, secret passageways, drippy incisions, brain transplants, coils and beakers, brains in jars, and Joseph Cotten's weird not-quite-European accent.
Near the end of the movie, Oldest Daughter Deathrage came downstairs because she apparently wanted to ruin my life and said so. She said, 'Dad, have you seen Rich Kids Of Instagram? It'll ruin your life'.
I don't really like having my life ruined, so I had to admit I hadn't seen the site. She went on to tell me that it's a site where rich kids post pictures of their rich lives. This bothered my daughter a great deal. She was shocked at the photos of teenagers having champaign parties on yachts and taking helicopter rides to the Hamptons and owning solid gold diamond-encrusted I-Phone5s.
Now I'm going to have to have a talk with my daughter and explain to her that we're wealthy because I don't think she knows. She believes we live in squalor because we don't have yachts or items gilded in gold. I don't like champaign, I like coffee. I don't like boats of any variety. I don't need to go to the Hamptons because I visited Cave City, Kentucky this summer and that was just as good. I don't eat fancy meals because I like tater tots. I don't need an enormous pool because I don't like to swim, and I don't throw parties because I don't like people. My family and I spend our wealth on extravagant footwear, Halloween-related craft items, and Junior Mints.
UPDATE: I think Oldest Daughter Deathrage is starting to get a clue, because she demanded to know where all the new running shoes and plastic decorative rats came from.
Dear Netflix: I don't think you know what a comedy is, especially if it's a foreign film. Bad Day To Go Fishing has the possibilities to be comedic, but when the cellos start playing you know it's not going to be humorous. Here's the gist: A former world champion wrestler and a supposed prince attempt to grift a small town with tragic results. While Day Day To Go Fishing has some colorful cinematography and good art direction, it's definitely lacking in the humor department.
It should be pretty easy to write reviews for these films. Guess what? It's not. They're all terrible. They all have outlandish plots. And they all have enormous things in them. The comedy should just write itself. Well, it doesn't.
The Calamari Wrestler
In The Calamari Wrestler, a professional wrestler is reincarnated and attempts to reclaim his former life.
Executive Koala
In Executive Koala, a pickle factory executive's girlfriend has been viciously murdered and he finds he is the prime suspect.
Deadly Weapons
And finally, an advertising executive's lover has been murdered by the mob and she's going to get her revenge with the only two weapons she has.
Movies about a murderous marsupial, a pro-wrestling seafood appetizer, and Chesty Morgan should be outrageously entertaining. They aren't. Clearly, they are going to have their scenes of WTF, but instead of going completely nuts, the film-makers decide to play it straight. Using a framework of romantic comedy or gangster film tropes; the wrestling, ax-murdering, and bosom smothering takes a back-seat. Sure, there's a bizarre musical interlude in Executive Koala that has to be seen to be believed, a surreal guerrilla street boxing match between the titular wrestling calamari and a mantis shrimp that's worth a peek, and Chesty Morgan performing one of the most seduction-free and pathos-laden strip-teases ever committed to film; but those highlights are just brief moments in three very tedious full-length films.
Not that I'm saying you shouldn't see them, because you should. It just won't be very pleasant.
The infamous 1970s "Mormon Sex In Chains" case is examined in this Errol Morris documentary. Simply shot in mid close up and consisting primarily of interviews and cut-up-newspaper-like graphics; Tabloid is lurid, manipulative, and nearly impossible to look away from. As the story unfolded, I found my jaw dropping just a little bit more. Tabloid is funny, entertaining and often unbelievable, and to spill more about it would ruin the fun. Here's a trailer anyway.
