Review: YAKUZA APOCALYPSE (2015)

YAKUZA APOCALYPSE is exactly what you'd expect from prolific Japanese auteur, Takishi Miike, which is to say that it's a bunch of shit that you can't possibly expect. I love Miike because the guy just seems to do whatever the fuck he wants to do, like a filmmaking rōnin. A typical Miike movie night can feature highlights like a dick-headed robot, a dead hooker in a kiddie pool full of poo, and Quentin Tarantino eating an egg that he cut out of a snake that he shot out of a hawk's talons.

Miike has 99 directing credits to his name on IMDb, and that's only since 1991. That's crazy. To put that in perspective, Woody Allen, who's considered to be one of America's most prolific directors, only has 30 directing credits from that same window ('91-today). Granted, Allen is also a writer, penning the screenplays for many of his own films, and others', but still; what we would normally consider to be a prolific body of work looks like Kubrick's filmography compared to what Miike's been doing. It's not simply a matter of quantity over quality, either, Miike having directed movies like 13 ASSASSINS, which received near universal acclaim (the film currently holds a 96% fresh rating on Rotten Tomatoes), and would have probably won Oscars if the Academy weren't so dismissive of world cinema and generally shitty. Master Japanese director, Akira Kurosawa, was only ever nominated for one Oscar, despite the fact that he directed 7 of IMDb's Top 250, so there's probably no hope for Miike. Fortunately, though, Miike's work has garnered him a cult following, and YAKUZA APOCALYPSE will undoubtedly prove to be a memorably bonkers night in for those in the know, and if you don't know, now you know.

I'll do my best to piece together the story here, but to be honest, I'm not sure what the fuck is going on. There's a small-town yakuza boss/vampire who uses his supernatural powers to crush his local rivals. He's a good guy overall, though, ensuring that his men follow a strict code of conduct when it comes to dealing with civilians. Under no circumstance are they to be harmed, and this despite the fact that they're a viable source of nourishment for the boss. Moreover, we're told that civilian blood is actually better for him than yakuza blood, underscoring the boss' honor in abstaining from it. Honor is a reoccurring theme throughout most of Miike's films, but YAKUZA APOCALYPSE presents an interesting dilemma in its wedding of the vampire and yakuza genres, which sees a yakuza vampire's honor preserved only at the cost of his well-being. Granted, this isn't a new moral quandary. Edward Cullen found honor in loving Bella and abstaining from tearing open her neck and drinking her blood through a curly straw—he only tears through her iron vampire uterus to deliver their baby, you know, so I hear... I guess what makes the dilemma interesting in YAKUZA APOCALYPSE is that, being a yakuza, the boss doesn't have to subsist on rabbits and deer and shit, like Edward does. He's an honorable guy, sure, but being a yakuza, he's used to skirting the law. To quote the moral philosopher, Fat Tony, "...is it wrong to steal a loaf of bread to feed your starving family?" The boss doesn't think so, taking things one step further than Jean Valjean by keeping a basement full of half-naked, non-civilian men feverishly knitting and awaiting the moment that one of them is chosen to satisfy his thirst.

Then there's Kagayama, played by Hayato Ichihara, who is an ambitious young yakuza soldier held back by his sensitive skin, which keeps him from getting one of those cool Japanese tattoos and earning the respect of his peers. The boss likes Kagayama, though, and even brings him to his favorite bar, which is actually just a front for the aforementioned basement full of half-naked men. The bartender pours Kagayama a glass of blood and the kid downs the whole thing, pukes, then kills a second round like a champ. This seems to impress the boss, who makes Kagayama his yakuza vampire successor after an otaku/assassin, played by Yayan "Mad Dog" Ruhian (MERANTAU, THE RAID: REDEMPTION, THE RAID 2) rips his head off. Apparently the boss used to belong to an international crime syndicate, and when he refused to be brought back into the fold, they sent Mad Dog and a VAMPIRE HUNTER D wannabe with Katt Williams hair after him.

Kagayama finds the boss' disembodied head in an alley, but like most disembodied heads in Miike movies, it's still alive, and pricks his neck with a weird tentacle thing, because Japan, infecting him with the yakuza vampire disease. I keep saying "yakuza vampire" because we're not talking about the run-of-the-mill, sexy, brooding sort. No, when a yakuza vampire bites you, you become a total bad-ass, regardless of who you once were; in one scene, we see some infected cops gambling, drinking, and not giving a shit that everything's gone to hell. Unfortunately Kagayama doesn't show the self-restraint his boss did—in his defense, I'd probably want to stay away from the weird basement situation, too. He immediately pricks someone, who then pricks someone else, and so on, until almost everyone in town is yakuza vampire. The only people that aren't infected are a few regular yakuza and members of the international crime syndicate, including a kappa, a creature from Japanese folklore and that one episode of ARTHUR. The kappa in YAKUZA APOCALYPSE has a teardrop tattoo, though, so you know he's hard.

There's also Kaeru-kun, "the modern monster" and "world's toughest terrorist," who—and I shit you not—is a guy in a felt frog costume who absolutely destroys people with dazzlingly choreographed hand-to-hand, and, occasionally, baseball bat-to-face moves (after pacing around guys seated at a table, like De Niro in THE UNTOUCHABLES). He also has a crazy finisher, "the bulging eye stare down," which is a Hypnotoad-esque gaze that makes people cross their arms and swing side to side like a human metronome, until they die? I don't know, they never really explain it. I have to admit, having this crappy high school mascot-looking guy with magical powers and Iko Uwais-level fighting skills sort of comes across as Miike being weird for the sake of being weird, whereas his weirdness used to serve a real purpose, like in AUDITION, where the fucked-up bits with the sack and the body parts seem to come out of nowhere, disturbing us like a heavy stone hitting a still pond. Maybe he's not the filmmaking rōnin that he once was, and now serves audiences' ever-increasing expectation that he deliver a film more gonzo than his last. Or maybe he's just descending into complete madness. Don't get me wrong, I love the in-your-face insanity of a frog deflecting minigun fire with spinning nunchaku and riding a grenade explosion into the sky to fall back down and deliver a head-splitting karate chop. I just wonder if Miike will ever return to the subtly strange (or, at least, well-timed explosion of strange) approach, characteristic of his earlier and, in my opinion, better films, like AUDITION and GOZU.

So, everyone in town is going berserk and the leader of the international crime syndicate, this woman with a constant, audible drip inside her head that eventually develops into an earwax geyser, tries to go the HUNGER GAMES route and use food as a means of control. Yakuza vampires feed on human blood, though, so she starts growing civilians, an operation that we're given some insight into through a TELETUBBIES bit as it might be envisioned by someone who drops slightly more acid than the people who make TELETUBBIES.

Things don't really pan out, though, and the final fourth of the film is basically a knock-down-drag-out brawl between a bunch of weirdos that eventually results in Frogger the Destructor being summoned from deep within a volcano to go Toho Gojira on intentionally fake-looking miniatures' asses—it's just as ridiculous and wonderful as it sounds.

In the end, I'd recommend YAKUZA APOCALYPSE to anyone looking to watch something different. Just when you think you have a handle on things, Miike tosses in some other absurd character or scenario that will knock you for a loop. Martial arts and action movie enthusiasts will find a lot to like here, too, as YAKUZA APOCALYPSE delivers the same sort of frenzied, but coherently shot and edited action seen in 13 ASSASSINS. This is largely owing to Ruhian, Ichihara, and whoever's in that frog costume (I honestly can't find anyone credited anywhere), who are all fantastic, turning in awe-inspiring physical performances, the likes of which you just don't see in Hollywood action films, and allowing Miike to roll on the pandemonium without needing to use unintelligible fast cutting to hide doubles. That the fights are coherently shot and edited doesn't make them any less ridiculous, though: we see shit like a little kid fly through the air while brandishing an ax, like Matthew McConaughey in REIGN OF FIRE, and Kaeru-kun, who, to reiterate, is a fucking frog, get run over by a dekotora, a bizarre type of Japanese truck that looks like a casino on wheels—Japanese truck culture having apparently evolved beyond humble truck nuts.

Review: TALES OF HALLOWEEN (2015)

TALES OF HALLOWEEN is the most fun I've had at the movies this year, which is partly owing to my love of all things All Hallow's Eve (except the movie, ALL HALLOW'S EVE), but also to the simple fact that it's an uproariously enjoyable horror anthology. Like TRICK 'R TREAT, TALES OF HALLOWEEN serves as a sort of Halloween special for adults, evoking those wonderful nights of yore when you'd be transported to magical towns where skeletons drive cabs and werewolves style hair, or to those run-of-the-mill Midwestern towns where, quite simply, Halloween still means something, and kids defy their parents and the forces of evil to ensure that it's celebrated. It seems that in our haste to grow up, we sometimes forget what's so amazing about Halloween, a night full of strange mysteries and ancient traditions, when you can be whoever or whatever you want to be, including a drunk in a revealing cat costume, because despite pumpkin-thumping purists' tut-tutting, partying has always been a part of our modern Halloween. However, we ought to remember that Halloween affords us the opportunity to be something far more incredible than drunk; we can be kids. We can eat candy until we're sick, wear weird getups without worrying what people think, and stay up all night watching scary movies. TALES OF HALLOWEEN understands all of this, its segments capturing Halloween from every angle. Moreover, that each segment represents the style and vision of a different director effectively allows the film to capture one of the most essential aspects of Halloween: individual expression.

There are ten segments in all, each taking place in the same town on the same Halloween night, as indicated by the presence of reoccurring characters from one segment to the next. A WARRIORS-esque, omniscient radio DJ, played by Adrienne Barbeau (one of countless horror icons who make a cameo appearance over the course of the film), also serves to tie everything together. Some segments are better than others, which is to be expected from any horror anthology, but all of them are, at the very least, entertaining, delivering laughs, chills, or both. The film is a beautiful love letter to Halloween, drawing from its many traditions and showing a reverence for them in its depictions of what horrible fates befall transgressors, again, similar to TRICK 'R TREAT. Whereas TRICK 'R TREAT is first and foremost a horror film, though, TALES OF HALLOWEEN often sacrifices tension and mood for the sake of comedy, or else uses them to mislead us before ultimately finding humor in transgressing horror traditions. So, for example, in Mike "BIG ASS SPIDER!" Mendez's segment, "Friday the 31st," a mask-wearing, machete-wielding maniac—and obvious homage to FRIDAY THE 13TH's Jason Voorhees—pursues a "final girl," i.e. the virginal heroine of a horror movie who manages to outlast everyone else. Things take a sudden, and frankly fucking weird turn, though, when after spearing his prey, the killer is confronted by a claymated alien. It's hilarious to see this hulking monster scratch his head and mumble shit basically translating to "WTF," as this tiny, Henry Selick reject repeatedly chirps, "trick or treat!" Things get even more hilarious when, after being denied candy, the alien streams into the dead girl's mouth to possess her corpse and engage the killer in a ridiculously over-the-top machete fight.

"Bad Seed," from Neil Marshall, writer-director of modern horror classics, DOG SOLDIERS and THE DESCENT, turns in an equally absurd segment about a genetically modified pumpkin going around town biting people's heads off. Equal parts ATTACK OF THE KILLER TOMATOES and LETHAL WEAPON, "Bad Seed" is full of laugh-out-loud stuff, most notably a composite artist's sketch of the unusual suspect, which, when revealed, was hysterically received at the screening I attended. Darren Lynn Bousman's, "The Night Billy Raised Hell," also ranks among the films funnier segments, following the titular child, Billy, as he and the devil roam around town pulling pranks, which quickly devolve into carjackings and convenience store robberies. There are some really great scenes in this one, like when Billy's cruising down the highway while the devil's in the back, eating a bucket of chicken and listening to rap music, or when a flaming pumpkin—seemingly a Halloween take on the flaming bag of dog poo, and thus presumably filled with shit—is actually revealed to contain a fucking bear trap. [UPDATE] Clint Sears, screenwriter of "The Night Billy Raised Hell," has just informed me that, "the bear trap is, in fact, loaded with a bag of poo," elevating this already fantastic segment to a whole new level of artistry.

Other segments are genuinely hair-raising, like Axelle Carolyn's, "Grim Grinning Ghost," which builds to a single, perfectly executed jump scare; the sound of a hundred people simultaneously shitting themselves heralding the arrival of a tremendous new talent. The segment also features everyone's favorite paranormal investigator—OK, 2nd favorite after Bill Murray—Lin Shaye, from the INSIDIOUS series. Stuart Gordon's in there, too, for all of you with a keen eye for cameos (I'll admit that I had to look that one up). Dave Parker's, "Sweet Tooth," is also pretty unsettling, and plays like those early 2000s horror flicks centered around storied humanoid creatures, like JEEPERS CREEPERS, DARKNESS FALLS, and BOOGEYMAN. As in many of those movies, though, the legend proves to be creepier than the creature itself, and Sweet Tooth's reveal will likely feel a little anticlimactic for seasoned horror vets.

One of my favorite segments is "The Weak and the Wicked," from Paul Solet, director of the criminally underrated GRACE. It may have the least to do with Halloween, but Solet nails the look and feel of a Sergio Leone western by employing the director's trademarked techniques, like alternating between extreme close-ups of steely gazes and long shots of a group of thugs staring down a lone hero. This, coupled with an interesting supernatural element, make for a really cool short that I'd actually like to see expanded into something more. Plus, it'll satisfy those of you yearning for another good horror western, because let's face it, GALLOWWALKERS was pretty terrible (here's hoping BONE TOMAHAWK is better).

The four remaining segments are all good, if slightly less so than the ones that I already mentioned. Adam Gierasch's, "Trick," reminded me a lot of ILS, the French horror movie about the murderous kids, because of, well, all the murderous kids. There's a surprising twist at the end that serves as a haphazard explanation for why a bunch of ten-year-olds are stabbing people to death, but it's sort of dumb, and the segment might have been better off if, like ILS, the kids' motivations were left unclear, and we just had to chalk it up to violent video games or something. Ryan Schifrin's, "The Ransom of Rusty Rex," is interesting, and features a great and, sadly, final performance from Ben Woolf, who played the dancing ghost kid in INSIDIOUS—you know, the one who made you piss yourself and hate that fucking "Tiptoe Through the Tulips" song. This time Woolf plays a weird demon that two bumbling criminals abduct, mistakenly believing it to be the son of a rich guy, played by rich guy, and director of ANIMAL HOUSE, BLUES BROTHERS, and AN AMERICAN WEREWOLF IN LONDON, John Landis. "Ding Dong" comes to us from Lucky McKee, who directed one of my all-time favorite horror movies, THE WOODS. Like THE WOODS, "Ding Dong" is a sort of dark, modern fairy tale, using the story of Hansel and Gretel to deliver a heavy-handed message about spousal abuse. It's a bit of a mess, but I applaud McKee for trying to do something different. There are some creepy visuals in the segment, too, like when the husband looks at his wife and sees an outward manifestation of the ugliness inside her.

Finally, there's John Skipp and Andrew Kasch's, "This Means War," which is basically a Halloween version of DECK THE HALLS, that crappy Christmas movie where Matthew Broderick and Danny DeVito take turns slipping on ice and accidentally setting their Christmas trees on fire. I enjoyed this one because it reminded me of my Dad, who's constantly trying to improve upon his already kid-repelling Halloween display. It's timely, too; I was just reading about a guy in the States who had these fucked up decorations on his front lawn, but was pressured into taking them down by angry parents whose kids thought they were real. I'm all for Halloween decorating, and usually I'd say the more disturbing, the better, but this guy lived right near the local elementary school and had a realistic-looking fake child's corpse impaled on pike... Anyway, in the segment, a guy with a pretty tame, but classic, William Castle-esque display (spooky tree cutouts, tombstones, cobwebs, skeletons) takes pride in the fact that for the last twenty years, his house has been the best-decorated on his street. Unfortunately for him, his neighbor decides to do his own display, favoring the Rob Zombie approach (girls, gore, lurid lighting, metal music). It's a good satirical representation of the old school vs. new school debate among Halloween-lovers, and among horror fans, who seem to be divided into two camps: those who prefer subtle, mood-intensive horror that makes your skin crawl, and those who prefer loud, blood-soaked gore fests that make your stomach turn. The segment sends a clear message that horror fans' squabbling is stupid, and that there's room for both styles—the best horror movies often wedding the two. 

On the whole, TALES OF HALLOWEEN does just that, its segments falling all along the spectrum. The film is sure to garner a cult following and become a Halloween classic alongside TRICK 'R TREAT, and rightfully so. While it may lack TRICK 'R TREAT's cohesiveness, consistency and flow, TALES OF HALLOWEEN is a film bursting with creativity, and a comfortable assurance that the future of horror is in good hands; that so many genre icons appear in the film, many of whom have all but retired, seems to be their way of blessing this new wave of horror directors. It also pays Halloween the reverence it deserves, while still lovingly lampooning some of its sillier aspects. Most importantly, though, it's fun. If I wasn't laughing because I'd just involuntarily let slip a "HOLY FUCK," I was laughing because most of segments feature pointedly witty dialogue and/or laughably absurd scenarios, like a loose cannon cop (one fuck-up away from being busted down to Vice so fast that it'll make her head spin!) pursuing a murderous jack-o'-lantern. The film received a pretty limited release, but like a house that gives out full-size candy bars, a theatre screening TALES OF HALLOWEEN is worth seeking out this October.

Review: THE GREEN INFERNO (2013)

Put the kids to bed and hide grandma's glasses. Eli Roth is back in the director's chair and the results are just as fucked up as you'd expect. I have to admit, I'm not the biggest Roth fan, not because I think he's a bad director or anything, but because he's just too good at what he does, namely gross people out. I love horror. In fact, after martial arts, it's probably my favorite genre, but there's something about this torture porn stuff, a horror sub-genre which many credit Roth with inventing, that doesn't sit well with me. Of course it isn't meant to sit well with anyone. The point is to push the limits of what a filmmaker can show on screen, testing audiences' tolerance, but I just don't get that sick thrill from it, like the kind you get when the main villain gets fucked up at the end of an action movie. In MARKED FOR DEATH, when Seagal breaks that Jamaican drug dealer in half over his knee, then throws him down an elevator shaft where he gets impaled on a pole, you can't help but laugh at the absurd extremity of it all. Maybe it's because the drug dealer had it coming, whereas in torture porn movies, most of the people getting fucked up are really only guilty of being douches, a crime apparently punishable by (excruciating) death.

So, I was overjoyed to discover that this month is a veritable Rothathon (not to be confused with the Jewish New Year, Rosh Hashanah), with two new Roth films (the 2nd being KNOCK KNOCK) screening in select theatres for small audiences of die-hards and poor, unsuspecting couples looking for a little Halloween fun. Granted, there's some fun to be had. Roth seems in tune with today's youth (THE GREEN INFERNO's end credits even include people's twitter handles), or at least the popular perception thereof, and his script paints a humorously exaggerated picture of over-privileged twentysomethings' melancholy, disinterest, and general awfulness, "Activism is so fucking gay." Similarly, on the whole, the film can be interpreted as a tongue-in-cheek statement about "voluntourism" and "slacktivism." However, to really enjoy THE GREEN INFERNO, you need to be into watching people get messed up. Like, really messed up.

The film follows Justine, a college freshman, played by newcomer and Roth-wedder, Lorenza Izzo (who also stars in KNOCK KNOCK). During a lecture, Justine sees images of female genital mutilation in Africa and decides to join a student activism group to try to make a difference in the world. Before long, she's blindly following the group's charismatic leader, Alejandro, played by Ariel Levy (another member of Roth's circle, having starred alongside him in AFTERSHOCK, which Roth also co-wrote), to Peru to save a stretch of rainforest and a lost tribe living therein from being destroyed to allow a company access to lucrative natural resources. We get a LIZZIE MCGUIRE MOVIE-esque montage of the kids zipping around in motorcycle rickshaws and taking in the local sights, but it's pretty much downhill from there. The group is able to delay the destruction by chaining themselves to the company's bulldozers and using their phones to live-stream what unfolds, thus keeping the hired security from just shooting them, because it would be witnessed by what Alejandro claims are millions of viewers. Unfortunately, on the flight back to the city, the group's plane crashes and the shit immediately hits the fan. You're always on edge when you're watching a Roth movie, because you know that at any moment, a character can suffer a revolting injury, and that it won't necessarily be the flashy decapitation or goring sort, which are often heralded by, say, an ominous shot of a spinning propeller, RAIDERS OF THE LOST ARK style. So, for example, when the plane's engine blows out and everyone gets tossed around, one guy drives the tip of his beer bottle into his teeth/gums area. It's one of those movie injuries that you really feel, like when someone gets hit in the crotch, because chances are it's happened to you.

The plane crash takes out a surprising number of kids; at first I thought Roth would have kept more around to sustain his sick carnival of horrors. A few fall out the back of the plane after a tall tree tears it open in midair, others die on impact, including the pilot, who has the top half of his head ripped off by a branch, well, mostly ripped off—it's still dangling by a piece of skin—, and then there's one kid who absentmindedly walks into the still-spinning propeller. Tallying up the numbers now, though, 8 make it out alright to face the really fucked up shit that's still to come, compared to CABIN FEVER's initial 5 kids and HOSTEL's 2 (3 if you count Kana), which allows for a more diverse bunch of kills that should please fans of Roth's work.

Shortly after the crash, that lost tribe that the kids were trying to protect shows up, and this is when Roth runs into a bit of trouble. It seems a lot of people are upset over how the tribespeople are depicted, i.e. as headhunters and cannibals, despite the fact that it's a fictional tribe. Of course there are real uncontacted peoples out there, but saying that THE GREEN INFERNO is irreparably damaging to them is like saying that HOSTEL was irreparably damaging to Europeans. I suppose the fact that we don't know all that much about the former group complicates things, though, whereas we know that not all European businessmen spend their leisure time chopping up American tourists and sowing them back together. There are impressionable people who watch movies, and it's certainly possible that they might get the wrong idea of uncontacted peoples at a time when rainforests are disappearing at an alarming rate, and those who had once lived there in complete isolation are suddenly being exposed. To suggest that Roth has some agenda other than delivering trashy, throwback horror, though, or that his film will somehow play into someone else's corporate agenda, justifying the shitty treatment of uncontacted peoples on the basis that they're just a bunch of crazy cannibals—an actual concern that I've seen expressed on several activism sites—, seems pretty ridiculous to me.

Roth said himself that THE GREEN INFERNO's only targets are "slacktivists," those people on your Facebook news feed who change their profile picture to whatever a fake CeeLo Green page tells them to in order to "support" some cause. Sure, many of these people are genuinely caring, albeit misguided individuals, but others are just looking to posture. If you're wondering about Roth's motivations, just read his script, rife with lines like, "The only thing those posers [student activists] care about is looking like they care. It’s just a mere demonstration to appease their fucking white Jewish suburban guilt." Moreover, the tribespeople, despite being headhunters and cannibals, are far from the worst people in this film. That award definitely goes to Alejandro, and while I don't want to give too much away, let's just say that I'm more likely side with the dude eating another dude than the one who starts jacking off seconds after seeing his friend's throat get slit open. It's worth noting, too, that THE GREEN INFERNO is a spiritual successor to exploitation movies like CANNIBAL HOLOCAUST (even drawing its name from CANNIBAL HOLOCAUST's film-within-a-film), which Roth often cites among his work's primary influences. As strange as it may sound, THE GREEN INFERNO is a passion project. Its timing, however poor, is reflective of Roth's successes in Hollywood, which now afford him the freedom to make whatever the fuck he wants to, and not the current sociopolitical state of affairs in places like Peru. In short, I don't think the guy's trying to do anything but make a dumb homage to a bunch of dumb movies because he likes them, and he probably doesn't deserve all the flak that he's been getting.

He even has the t-shirt, you guys.

So, the fictional tribe that the kids encounter is cannibalistic, which, again, is not at all indicative of the practices of actual uncontacted peoples. There's a little bit of uncertainty as to whether or not they're friendly, but like a one word text response, an arrow through Alejandro's girlfriend's neck indicates that no, they are not. The kids are brought back to the tribe's village, where all but one is shoved into a pigpen. For some reason the one guy thinks he's getting a massage or something when they lie him down on a big stone altar. He's thanking them and shit as the tribal elders approach with an ax and what looks to be a pointy ice cream scoop. I have this thing about eye-related stuff; I can't even take an eye drop without breaking down. So, I nearly fainted when one of the elders sticks the pointy ice cream scoop (insert joke about eye scream scoop) right into the poor dude's sockets and starts twisting it around. Then, when that doesn't work, she just sticks her fingers in there, without washing her hands—rude—, like its a fucked up Three Stooges bit. Once buddy's eyeballs are rolling around in the dirt, the elder cuts off his tongue and puts it in her mouth like a Listerine Pocketpak strip, while another elder hacks off each of the guy's limbs in turn until he's fucking Bob Oblong—remember THE OBLONGS? The whole thing looks really fucking real, Roth & Co. having certainly honed their skills over the years. I could barely watch, but my friend and Throat Rip Reviews' resident Roth expert/raving fangirl was grinning rapturously, because she's one of the people who actually gets a kick out of this shit, and you enjoying this movie basically hinges on you being one, too. I'll spare you anymore gory details (ha), but several more kids meet similarly disturbing ends.

Interestingly, though, when I was at a second hand DVD store, I got to talking to the guy working, who said he hated THE GREEN INFERNO because he's, "seen worse shit [gorier stuff] on THE WALKING DEAD." I don't know about that. There's a death scene in THE GREEN INFERNO that's definitely reminiscent of that famous death scene in the original DAY OF THE DEAD (where the guy gets absolutely torn to pieces by a horde of zombies), that's since been recycled in literally every zombie movie and TV show, TWD included, but there's just something about the fact that they're normal people in THE GREEN INFERNO, as opposed to mindless monsters, that makes the death seem worse. The effects are definitely on par with anything in TWD (or GAME OF THRONES, for you people who think you've seen some shit just because you watched "The Mountain and the Viper"), but I'd argue that in THE GREEN INFERNO, there's an added layer of repugnance in the context.

The performances are all pretty lackluster, with a couple of exceptions, most notably Sky Ferreira's. Her character, Kaycee, is wonderfully sardonic, like Daria brought to life, and Kaycee's attempts to dissuade Justine from joining the student activism group constitute some of the most memorable parts of the film. This is largely owing to Roth's writing, but Ferreira definitely deserves credit for delivering acerbic quips like, "So I go to this party and Scott is like, 'You should totally rush.' I’m like, 'That’s retarded. That’s for kids who are stupid enough to go to Dartmouth,'" so convincingly.

When I Googled "Sky Ferreira," this still from THE TRUST came up. I thought it was funny.

The actors and actresses playing the cannibalistic tribespeople are also great. Apparently they're actually members of an isolated Amazonian tribe. Roth alleges that he showed them CANNIBAL HOLOCAUST (probably CABIN FEVER, too—"This is the biggest movie in America!") to give them something to base their performances on, because again, they're not actually crazy cannibals.

In the end, you probably already know whether or not this one's for you. For people who aren't into watching other people get messed up, there are some breathtaking shots of the Amazon rainforest by cinematographer Antonio Quercia, fantastic makeup work—the tribe's red and black body paints look really cool—, and, again, Roth's sharp sense of humor. The guy knows how to inject pointedly witty commentary into his outwardly dumb horror movies, but he also doesn't shy away from frat boy jokes, which land pretty well, like when the token stoner character sticks a bag of marijuana in a dead girl's gaping neck wound, so that when the cannibals cook her, they'll get high (AF, BRO!) from the smoke, allowing him and the other remaining kids to escape unnoticed. This is followed by another funny, stupid bit where, OH SHIT, the cannibals have the munchies, man! For the most part, though, your time at THE GREEN INFERNO will be spent watching truly disgusting stuff, and unless that's your cup of tea, which then turns out to be a cup of your missing friend, you might want to catch something else.

Review: The Parisian Cinemagoing Experience

Sorry for not posting any reviews the last couple of weeks. I had hoped to do some writing while I was away but it turns out Paris is fucking incredible, and I couldn't justify sitting in my apartment in front of my computer while there was so much cool stuff to do. I'm not just talking about seeing the Eiffel Tower or strolling through the Louvre, though. For me, what really distinguishes Paris from the other places I've visited is the city's unabashed love of films. You can't throw a croissant without hitting a cinema, and more often than not it's one with a rich history and diverse program, the likes of which you'd be hard-pressed to find here in Canada. Of course we have places like the Mayfair Theatre, but havens like the Mayfair, theatres that don't just screen the latest Marvel movie in whatever face-melting format that's been cooked up to try to justify adding another $5 to the ticket price, are certainly few and far between.

For the most part, the cinemas in Paris exist for the love of films, not money, with independent movie houses with more control over their programs far outnumbering the big chains limited to the latest blockbusters. On any given day you can see a Korean revenge flick from masters like Bong Joon-ho and Park Chan-wook, then catch a silent film accompanied by live piano, before ending things with a classic American movie, screening as a part of an extensive retrospective look at directors like Martin Scorsese and Sam Peckinpah. It's amazing what you can find playing around town, but what's even more amazing is how the simple act of going to the movies is always viable to become an unforgettable experience for film lovers. For example, during my visit, a screening of the cult Korean monster movie, THE HOST (which you should watch if you haven't already), was preceded by a lecture from French film critic, Stéphane du Mesnildot, entitled, "Bong Joon-ho: Mothers, Monsters and Killers." Even when there isn't something scheduled, after a film screening, you can always participate in lively, Kronenbourg-fueled discussions in the café-bars attached to nearly every cinema. You feel like you're in THE DREAMERS, only without the incestuous sex—at least in my experience.

The actual movie-watching part of going to the movies is better in Paris, too. Sure the historic cinemas might not have D-BOX, or UltraAVX, or SUPERMEGALOUDBRIGHT tech, but they have an undeniable charm. Cinema Studio 28, for example, features light fixtures designed by famous French novelist, playwright, filmmaker, and former patron, Jean Cocteau. But if that doesn't float your boat, you'll still find a cutting edge Sony 4K projector in the booth.

Cinéma Étoile Pagode was also wonderful, transporting you from the busy streets of Paris to a serene Japanese garden where you can enjoy a cup of tea or tentacle porn before the film begins (note: BYOTP).

As you're probably aware, the people around you can greatly impact on how much you enjoy watching a movie at the theatre, and if you're not aware of that fact, you're probably the sort of person I'm about to go off on, so pay attention. There's nothing more annoying than the person beside you at the theatre, or anywhere within view, for that matter, constantly checking their phone. Honestly, what the fuck are you doing? Why did you pay $15 to ignore a movie and piss people off? What is so urgent that it can't wait a couple of hours? Sure, there are some valid reasons for leaving your phone on and checking it now and then. Maybe you work on-call or your wife might go into labor or you're Liam Neeson and your daughter just went on vacation. Those are fair excuses, but to the fucker Snapchatting the first raptor scene at that screening of JURASSIC WORLD—you know who you are—, fuck you. You're sitting in the very front row (because you're stupid and you show up twenty minutes late for a 2nd-weekend screening of a movie that had the biggest opening weekend IN THE HISTORY OF MOVIES), and you're holding your phone at full arm's length over your head in plain view of literally everybody there, most of whom probably watch movies because they enjoy watching movies (and not because they enjoy sending 10-second clips of dinosaurs to their friends) and are probably distracted by the light floating around Chris Pratt's crotch. We don't need our attention drawn there; we're fully aware of Chris Pratt's crotch's magnificence, thank you very much. It's just fucking distracting. Part of the magic of watching a movie is losing yourself in it and being transported to another world, a goddamn Jurassic world. When you're on your phone, you're likely breaking people's immersion, and that sucks. I heard that some theatre chain in China wants to try to boost attendance by allowing people to use their phones, because youths are becoming increasingly terrible—also, get off my lawn—and this seems to correlate with declining ticket sales. Not only that, though, this chain wants to give them the ability to have their texts appear ON THE FUCKING SCREEN. What madness is this? You'd turn DALLAS BUYERS CLUB or something into a fucking VH1 pop-up video? Why on McConaughey's green earth would anyone want to see "imho this movie sux," or "ily bae <3 <3 <3," or, McConaughey forbid, "Netflix and chill?" *shudders* during a movie screening? Look, there are worse people than "Tommy Texter." "Suzie Seatkicker" sucks, too, and there are "Ronnie Racists," "Mikey Murderers," and "Donald Trumps" out in the world, but can't we at least try to make the theatre a better place? No? Well, we'll always have Paris...

The cinemagoers that I encountered in Paris were the most respectful bunch of people that I've ever had the pleasure of watching a movie with. Not once did I see someone pull out their phone, and 95% of every audience that I was a part of stayed until the end credits had finished rolling. Maybe that seems trivial, but a lot of people put a lot of hard work into making movies, be they the stunt performers, caterers, drivers, or the guy who greases Steven Seagal's ponytail, and waiting an extra few minutes so that they get a bit of recognition, even if there isn't some over-hyped post-credits scene that people read way too much into, says a lot about you as a cinemagoer. Now, as far as "Sally Soundtracks," i.e. people who talk during movies, go, I heard a few, but I'm of the belief that an excited and hurried whisper is cool. Going to the movies is amazing, and it's only natural to want to express that. I'd be lying if I said that I wasn't guilty of shooting a whispered and gleeful "fuck yeah" at my buddy every time Arnold first appears on screen. Sentiments like that are shared by everyone in the theatre, though. We're experiencing something fantastic together, whereas when you're dicking around on your phone, you're somewhere else. So, for example, when I saw PAT GARRETT AND BILLY THE KID at the Cinémathèque française, I overheard some women lose their shit when they saw Harry Dean Stanton. I got it. Moreover, I loved it. You never see people celebrate a guy like HDS, an accomplished actor with an impressive filmography, to be sure (the guy's in fucking COOL HAND LUKE, THE GODFATHER: PART II, ALIEN, ESCAPE FROM NEW YORK, RED DAWN and FIRE DOWN BELOW), but one who usually plays fifth or sixth fiddle to bigger names. Hearing someone involuntarily shriek and blurt out "Oh mon Dieu! C'est Harry Dean Stanton!" put a smile on my face, and is the sort of thing I love about going to theatre and watching a movie with other people.

So, friends, if you're in Paris, wouldn't you rather take in an interesting movie at a charming cinema with lovely people, than throw 'bows with a Chinese tour group to try to get a fleeting glance at the Mona Lisa? Because honestly, when I was there, AMY was the most beautiful portrait of a woman that I saw (if anyone involved with the marketing and distribution of AMY is reading this, please feel free to use that blurb on the DVD cover).

Review: BLACK MASS (2015)

BLACK MASS comes across as one of those movies engineered in a Hollywood lab to win awards. It's centered around a handsome A-lister whom we're all expected to applaud for willingly appearing less handsome—so brave. It's set in a place with a distinct regional accent so that everyone in the cast can prove to us how great they are. That cast is extensive, with every role, however small, filled by a relatively big name to increase the odds of a Best Supporting statuette. That sounds fine on paper, but not in your ear, when every other scene inevitably devolves into a battle of dueling fake Bostonian accents in which volume seems to be the only deciding factor, "GAWDDAMMIT MARIANNE, WHO BAWT YOU THAT NEW CAH?" All of that being said, the "true" story presented can be interesting, if only during its more intimate moments. Similarly, some of the subtler aspects of the performances, tucked between the "FACK"s and the "OH MY GAWD"s, are often captivating and occasionally downright frightening.

Johnny Depp plays Whitey Bulger (which, coincidentally, is how I refer to my penis), the infamously vicious/weird-looking Southie crime lord. Or at least he's infamously weird-looking now, because for some reason the BLACK MASS makeup department went for a "middle-aged Edward Scissorhands on meth" look that's the focus of every trailer. I looked up the real Whitey and while he's certainly no Clooney, he's definitely playing in a higher league than the bipedal mole-rat the film portrays him as. Whitey is the head of the Winter Hill Gang, a Boston Irish crime syndicate that practically runs Southie. Then there's John Connolly, played by Joel Edgerton, who grew up with Whitey on the streets of Boston, getting into fights and playing "cawps and robbahs." John went on to become a Fed but seems to wish he'd stuck with Whitey and become a career criminal because he breaks the law at every fucking turn. At first it's all for the greater good; he turns a blind eye to Whitey's business and Whitey coughs up information on the North Boston-based Italian mob, Winter Hill's rival and arguably the bigger threat of the two. It's a mutually beneficial "alliance," a word John throws around a lot whenever someone asks why he's having so many barbecues with a well-known murderer.

There's a definite bromantic dimension to their relationship, which I enjoyed. John tells his wife that Whitey once backed him in a schoolyard fight, earning his respect and admiration, "BUT DID HE TAKE YOU TRICK AH TREATIN', JOHN?" Unfortunately for her, John seems to adhere to the "bros before hoes" code, or more specifically, "Whiteys before wifeys," and his marriage begins to fall apart. Eventually it's "mobs before jobs." Witnesses with information tying Whitey to various murders start turning up dead themselves, which is suspicious, considering John was the only one they talked to. This somehow goes unnoticed by the initial DA, who seems like a good dude but also sort of a schmuck. His successor is a pre-fire (or acid, or whatever origin story you want to go with) Harvey Dent type with a hard-on for justice, which is bad news for John. There's a hilarious scene where John tries to win over this new DA with a pair of Red Sox tickets but gets utterly shut down. To make matters worse, the DA starts asking why Whitey's still running around murdering people and John flounders, throwing out nonsensical excuses for being caught off guard like, "I'm not in my office!" as if the answer is on a post-it note in there or something.

Meanwhile Whitey's still running around murdering people, or at least threatening to eat or bury them. Interestingly, while the makeup department tried to mole-ratify Whitey, the writers tried to humanize him, tossing out all sorts of possible explanations for why he's so fucked up. These range from clinical LSD testing during his bid on Alcatraz, to the unexpected loss of his loved ones. The plot structure lends credence to these explanations, with the majority of the really fucked up shit following in wake of a particularly tragic death, whereas before, it seems as if Whitey was mostly just helping old ladies carry their groceries and playing Gin Rummy with his mother. Johnny Depp charms during these nice bad guy bits, which is a real testament to his performance considering he can't rely on his looks. He's played smooth criminals before, the sort who woo girls with a smile and lines like, "I like baseball, movies, good clothes, fast cars, whiskey, and you..." (PUBLIC ENEMIES), but Whitey is different. He may be humanized but he's never romanticized. Even Jason Voorhees loved his mom, though, and the scenes where Whitey isn't beating someone with a wrench or strangling teenage prostitutes help to create a more three-dimensional character. He's just not someone you want to be, which I think distinguishes BLACK MASS from movies like SCARFACE or GOODFELLAS, male power fantasies where well-dressed guys with nice cars are up to their eyeballs in drugs and women.

The Winter Hill Gang are blue-collar criminals who never forget where they came from because they never left. When Whitey comes home from "work," he might as well be coming home from the mill or something. He tosses his keys down, tells his ma he's beat, and tries to go upstairs for a nap, before ultimately being suckered into another game of Gin Rummy. In this scene, there is nothing about his appearance, most accurately described as Springsteen-esque (worn leather jacket, blue jeans, and boots), or general demeanor that betrays his position as a successful mob boss. When the filmmakers want to illustrate that the Winter Hill Gang is prospering, we get a scene where Whitey buys himself a new pair of boots, and that's it—no fancy suits, nice cars, or big houses. There's just a refreshing air of modesty about these guys, which, again, distinguishes BLACK MASS from other gangster movies.

As far as the performances go, they're all fine. Maybe it's partly due to a lackluster script, but few people really stand out. There are some notable exceptions, however, my favorite being Peter Sarsgaard, who seems to be doing an impression of John Malkovich doing an impression of Woody Allen. His character is Brian Halloran, a sweaty, unstable hitman who even makes Whitey's boys, a bunch of hardened killers, uncomfortable. Brian apparently shot his drug dealers in the middle of a Chinese restaurant, in full view of dozens of people, so everyone's a little wary of him. Sarsgaard seems like sort of an eccentric guy in real life, making him a natural fit for these types of roles. Jesse Plemons, who I don't remember ever seeing in anything and first thought was Ike Barinholtz in prosthetic makeup, is also worth mentioning. He plays Kevin Weeks, a bouncer-turned-mobster who impresses Whitey by taking on four unruly drunks, one of whom turns out to be Whitey's cousin—the kid's got balls... Plemons doesn't have too many lines, but his physical performance is scary. I mean, look at this guy. I wouldn't fuck with him.

Then there's Johnny Depp, who's obviously great. You don't need me to tell you that. I don't want to disregard his performance, though, so let me just say that some of his scenes are genuinely hair-raising. Whitey often shifts straight from amiable to menacing, and Depp handles this with ease. Joel Edgerton is good, too. John is an ass-hole and Edgerton really sells it, to the point where I have to remind myself that Edgerton's probably an alright guy in real life, or else I'll end up disliking him for years, like I did Timothy Olyphant after LIVE FREE OR DIE HARD.

I guess my biggest issue with BLACK MASS is that it's just sort of soulless. Aside from the interesting dynamic between John and Whitey, the novelty of a blue-collared Boston Irish mob focus, and the guys I just mentioned, everything else is exactly what you'd expect from this sort of movie. The senior law enforcement officer yells and swears a lot (only in BLACK MASS, everyone yells and swears a lot, so it's especially tedious), women are portrayed as a nagging hindrance to men's ambition, and everyone learns the hard way that crime doesn't pay—except for when it pays for a new pair of boots, but you'll eventually lose them when you go to prison.

Review: LADY TERMINATOR (1989)

LADY TERMINATOR may very well be the quintessential "so bad, it's good" movie. Marketed as Indonesia's answer to James Cameron's 1984 classic, the film is an hour and twenty minutes of glorious garbage haphazardly strewn over THE TERMINATOR's narrative framework. You've still got your time-travelling, super assassin, sure, but you've also got a crotch-dwelling eel that bites off unsuspecting men's penises. I don't really remember that being in THE TERMINATOR, but then again, it has been a few years since I sat down and watched the whole thing.

The film begins with a sex scene, fulfilling the first half of its tagline's promise, "SHE MATES..." Things seem to be going pretty well, and this despite the fact that they're both wearing clothes, à la Steven Seagal's work between the sheets (no bulky hoodies, though). Then out of nowhere, the woman, who's straddling the guy, makes a face like she's trying to bend a spoon with her mind and blood starts shooting all over the guy's chest. He dies and the woman summons attendants to haul his corpse away. Truly, "SHE MATES, THEN SHE TERMINATES." THEN SHE EATS GRAPES and asks herself if there's any man who can satisfy her. The next guy comes close, but really kills the mood when he pulls an eel out from between her legs, transforms it into a dagger, and shouts, "You are my wife now!"—I love learning about other countries' marital customs. The woman isn't looking to settle down though, and swears vengeance on the guy's great-granddaughter before vanishing.

Look, if I haven't already sold you on LADY TERMINATOR, then there must be a hole in your life that no amount of eels will fill. But, if like me, you're already writing the Academy to tell them they dropped the ball with their 1989 Best Foreign Language Film selection (sorry, CINEMA PARADISO), then take my hand, my friend, and come along with me...

Fast forward one hundred years. Tania, played by Barbara Anne Constable, is a budding young anthropology student writing her grad thesis on The Legend of the South Sea Queen, a story referenced in the opening credits as a basis for the film (no mention of THE TERMINATOR, though). It seems the woman from before—you know, the one with the crotch eel—, was said legendary Queen, and with the help of a strange library book and a local sea captain who looks a lot like an Indonesian Quint from JAWS, Tania sets sail to locate the submerged ruins of the Queen's former palace.

The Captain tries to warn Tania that his first mate, Popeye (seriously), lost his brother to the sea when he embarked on a similar expedition, but dammit, "people are building space stations on the moon," and Tania won't be deterred from diving down to the palace. She should have listened, because before long, she's tied to a bed with an eel all up in her. If I've lost you, I apologize, but that's really what happens next. Meanwhile, the Captain falls victim to a wave, which I assume is supposed to be one of those huge, PERFECT STORM, Clooney-killing type waves, but which comes across as a normal-sized wave that the camera operator zooms in on (because it is). I didn't realize what was happening until a stagehand or someone dumps a bucket of water on the Captain and we never see him again.

You're probably wondering, "Hey, Dylan, isn't this supposed to be a TERMINATOR knockoff or something?" Up until this point in the film, there hadn't been anything even remotely TERMINATOR-esque about LADY TERMINATOR, but a sudden, heavy synth score, very reminiscent of Brad Fiedel's work in T1 and T2, heralds change. If you'll recall, early in THE TERMINATOR, Arnold's T-800 has a run-in with some punks, including a blue-haired Bill Paxton. They seem like jerks, to be sure, but they really only poke fun at the T-800 for being ass-naked at a public observatory ("Wash day tomorrow... Nothing clean, right?"). Seems like fair game to me. It isn't until the T-800 demands that the punks fork over their clothes that they get hostile. In LADY TERMINATOR, we get a similar scene, except these two guys are fucking lunatics. I shit you not, one of them is drinking their own urine and talking about marrying his right fist—the epitome of self-sufficiency, I suppose, but crazy nonetheless. He also invokes our favorite pickpenis, "Hey, remember the legend of the South Sea Queen? Wouldn't it be nice if she could come now?" Apparently he skipped the chapter with all the dick thievery. Well, be careful what you wish for, bud, because just then, a naked Tania, possessed by the Queen via her crotch eel emissary and thus given supernatural powers, emerges from the water to seduce, and ultimately kill the men in a manner in keeping with the Queen's unique M.O. Granted, in THE TERMINATOR, the T-800 doesn't rely on penetration to kill the punks (excluding his fist penetrating that one dude's chest), but the synth score and Constable's steely gaze help LADY TERMINATOR to effectively mimic the general feel of Cameron's film. The scene ends the same way, too, with Tania stealing one of the punks' cool jackets.

I like this scene because it's the first to really illustrate what LADY TERMINATOR is in relation to THE TERMINATOR, i.e. a remake that substitutes an Indonesian legend for Cameron's dystopian drama, and schlock for his style. In THE TERMINATOR, the T-800 uses a phone book to find all the Sarah Connors in L.A. (this was before all that CATFISH, Spokeo shit, kids). He eventually gets the address right but ends up shooting Sarah Connor's roommate, having mistaken her for the mother of the resistance. Tania makes a similar mistake in pursuit of that guy's great-granddaughter, who we learn is named Erica, and shoots her friend instead. I don't know how Tania got so close to finding Erica—maybe the crotch eel acts as a sort of dowsing rod or compass needle—, but the point is, both films hit the same general story beats. The difference, though, is in the execution. Not how the women are killed, because they're both shot, but how the filmmakers handle these scenes. Cameron prefers to focus on the T-800 over the havoc he wreaks, because Arnold has incomparable screen presence. When the T-800 kills Sarah Connor's roommate, we get a quick shot of a bullet tearing through her nightgown and sending her flying, but the meat of the scene looks like this:

In LADY TERMINATOR, conversely, director H. Tjut Djalil (credited as Jalil Jackson), opts for the "schlock and awe, motherfuckers!" approach, so when Tania kills Erica's friend, it looks like this:

Later in THE TERMINATOR, the T-800 tracks Sarah Connor to a police station where she's being held and proceeds to trash the joint. He rams a car up some poor pencil-pusher's ass, cuts the power to the building, and kills a bunch of dudes—about 14, by my count. It's great, operatic violence that plays like a John Woo scene minus the doves and blood squibs (save for during a couple of key kills). In LADY TERMINATOR, Tania does nearly the same thing, right down to driving a car through the station, only everything's ramped up. Some guy is at the front desk complaining about his paycheck being short when Tania comes crashing through the front doors, and there's a third guy kicking around in the back that gets it, too. I counted at least 31 definite kills, more than twice the amount in THE TERMINATOR's equivalent scene. Shockingly, LADY TERMINATOR not only excels in terms of its kill quantity, but also in terms of its kill quality. Now I'm not saying that this crazy eel-stuffing, piss-drinking Indonesian ripoff is better than Cameron's original film, but I defy you to watch it and tell me that it isn't more fun. So while it's reasonable that the T-800, a machine programmed to kill, would go for vital organ shots (head, chest, etc.), these just aren't as laughably over the top as the stuff you find in LADY TERMINATOR. I mean, Tania's running around shooting people's dicks off.

One guy even gets the full Sonny Corleone treatment, but Tania puts her own special spin on it and kicks him in the crotch instead of the face.

You get the sense that this stupid movie is always actively trying to one up THE TERMINATOR, a film that cracked IMDb's top 250 (it currently holds the #206 spot) and that was selected for preservation by the Library of Congress, and you've just got to admire that degree of temerity. I mean, it even throws down the gauntlet to Linda Hamilton's mullet.

That mullet dude is Snake, by the way, and his scenes are undoubtedly my favorite parts of the film. We're first introduced to him during a bar fight between LADY TERMINATOR's Kyle Reese character, Max, and some guy with a ponytail who tries to proposition a girl by calling her "pretty face" twice and asking if "she wants to feel it first." Max punches the guy, who then stumbles over to Snake's corner of the bar, where he's greeted with a "HI, ASSHOLE," and treated to another shot in the breadbasket and several of Snake's overemphasized, mullet-whipping head turns. We learn that Snake is Max's old army buddy, which explains their great fight chemistry, but then he disappears until the end of the film, when he suddenly reappears to clasp hands with Max and their other buddies and shout, "Let's kick ass!" And kick ass they do. Snake definitely kicks the most, sprinting away for literally seconds and somehow returning with a tank. He rips around, shouting things like "CHARGE" and "FUCKIN' A" while standing up through the open hatch and flexing. He also gets the honor of diving through the air while a tanker truck explodes behind him. He's everything I wish I could be.

Man, I should really wrap this up before I fall any deeper down the eel hole. There's just too much crazy shit in this movie to try to contextualize. It has everything—Achilles crotches, laser eyes, hilariously inappropriate reactions to a friend's death, and the creepiest fucking fire mask I've ever seen on a stunt performer. Seriously, they look like Leatherface...

If you're wondering about the performances and the script and all that, well, you've probably come to the wrong critic, but you're definitely approaching this film the wrong way, because everything about LADY TERMINATOR is terrible. But it's that special kind of terrible, the kind that seems to transcend criticism. The film is one misstep after another, ultimately taking you somewhere the filmmakers likely hadn't intended, but the journey is enormously entertaining, and I'm of the belief that the only truly bad films are the boring ones.

Review: THE VISIT (2015)

I was at my local video store the other day to grab a copy of JESSABELLE when, seeing my selection, an employee struck up a conversation about contemporary horror films. I mentioned that my cousin and I were going to see THE VISIT later that evening and was surprised to learn that the guy, despite being an obvious genre fan, had no intention of ever seeing M. Night "Sixth Sense" Shyamalan's return to horror. In his mind, because Shyamalan's last few projects had been largely disappointing, there was little to no chance that THE VISIT would be worth his time. Well, here's a twist he didn't see coming: THE VISIT is effectively unsettling, surprisingly funny, and, at times, very reminiscent of the films that first put this talented, if inconsistent storyteller on the map.

Mo'Fuckin' M. Night playing the world's smallest violin for everyone upset over Airbender.

THE VISIT follows two children, Becca and Tyler, played by Olivia DeJonge and Ed Oxenbould, who decide to visit their estranged grandparents at their remote country home. Becca and Tyler's mom, played by Kathryn Hahn, is very opposed to this, though, having had a falling out with her parents which she refuses to talk about. We're left to wonder what happened as Becca, who shares our curiosity, probes her mother and grandparents for answers, hoping to ultimately discover an "elixir," closure that will end her mother's emotional turmoil. Becca's intentions aren't completely selfless, however, as the pint-sized Povich always has her cameras rolling on the family drama. I suppose "drama" is somewhat of an understatement, though. "Shit storm" (literally) seems more apt, because as Becca and Tyler quickly discover, Nana and Pop Pop are fucked up. I want to avoid any potential spoilers, so suffice it to say that a cupboard full of expired canned goods and stacks of yellowed Reader's Digests, the stuff you'd usually expect to find at your grandparents' house, definitely pale in comparison to the Ed Gein shit Becca and Tyler discover.

Shyamalan is back doing what he does best, creating unbearable tension that has you squirming in your seat. Becca and Tyler investigating strange noises outside their bedroom door features nearly as prominently in my nightmares as Kyra entering Cole's tent in THE SIXTH SENSE, or that traumatizing Brazilian birthday party footage in SIGNS. Shyamalan always seems more interested in making our skin crawl than in making us jump, and it gives his films a certain haunting quality. I can honestly say that since seeing SIGNS, I haven't attended any birthday parties in Brazil.

I ought to mention that this is a found footage film, i.e. the characters themselves are supposed to have filmed what we're seeing. This is certainly well-trodden ground, but THE VISIT distinguishes itself by frequently forgoing the whole shaky realism thing. For a director, there's very little glory in making a found footage film, because when it's done well, it looks like you didn't do anything. Of course that's the point; these movies are made to appear as though they were shot by security cameras and ill-fated teens with iPhones, not USC grads. I imagine that this would be difficult. Most directors must be concerned with showcasing their talents, and those just aren't immediately apparent in a found footage film. Shyamalan circumvents this whole dilemma, though, making Becca a talented aspiring documentary filmmaker... It seems sort of cheap, I know, but the whole thing works. We feel as though we're right in the thick of things, and those things are all well lit and framed, etc.

THE VISIT also distinguishes itself from, say, Paranormal Activity, by showcasing a very strong cast. Look, I enjoy the PA series—I'll be at Ghost Dimension opening night—but nobody watches those movies for the performances. I expected similar degrees of hamminess, or worse, straight dickheadedness (looking at you, Micah from PA 1) here, but everyone holds their own, even Oxenbould, who first comes across as irksome, looking like a lost Sprouse brother and rapping under the name "T-Diamond Stylus," but eventually proves to be charming and funny. Deanna Dunagan undoubtedly steals the show though, effortlessly transitioning from sweet old lady to something akin to the cellar hag in EVIL DEAD. That she's able to communicate an underlying sinisterness while still maintaining an air of sweetness that Becca and Tyler might believably buy is impressive. Peter McRobbie, for his part, keeps pace as Pop Pop, but his performance is far less subtle. We know he's probably unstable when we get to the timeworn "guy's probably unstable because he's really into chopping wood" scene, à la THE AMITYVILLE HORROR remake. That being said, the award for most fucked up moment definitely goes to Pop Pop, or "Poop Poop," more like (I know, I hate myself too).

Now, if you'll allow me to awkwardly transition from poo jokes to real talk, it's been a few days since I saw THE VISIT and I can honestly say that the film has stayed with me. Interestingly, though, when I close my eyes and my mind is left to wander freely through the dark corners of my imagination, it isn't the image of crab-walking pensioners that assail it. Pop Pop wielding an ax is frightening, to be sure, but what's far more frightening is his conviction that he's late for a costume party, one he likely attended 20 years earlier. Both Nana and Pop Pop seem to exhibit symptoms of dementia, a frightening condition often associated with aging. In this way, THE VISIT touches upon a very real fear for many people, myself included, having witnessed the effects of dementia firsthand, and while it's certainly no AMOUR, this realism elevates THE VISIT above most found footage films, and disturbs you on a far deeper level.

So, video store guy, THE VISIT is most definitely worth your time. I sincerely hope that it helps Shyamalan to get back in Hollywood's good graces, which, at the end of the day, all depends on (ass-tons of) money. At the time of writing, THE VISIT has made around $25.6 million its first weekend, just shy of THE SIXTH SENSE's $26.6 million opening weekend gross, which is fantastic, considering that THE VISIT was made for a mere $5 million that Shyamalan allegedly kicked in himself. THE SIXTH SENSE, comparatively, cost $40 million to make. Only time will tell how THE VISIT will fare commercially, but artistically, the film succeeds, and for horror fans pining for the days of old when a new Shyamalan film was a big deal, that's reason to celebrate.