KILLER KLOWNS FROM OUTER SPACE (1988)

Alien clowns from space are packing “deadly popcorn guns and cotton candy cocoons.” It’s right there in the synopsis, people. If you don’t want to watch Killer Klowns from Outer Space based on that line alone — either again or for the first time — then no one can help you.

Lots of horror films are a huge part of my childhood. Killer Klowns from Outer Space was one of them. For a period during my late tens (that’s tens, not teens), it was almost inescapable. It played on television constantly, and the very first time I caught it, I was home from school with a fever and enjoying the rare chance to absorb daytime television. (I also saw Innerspace and The Shining under similar circumstances. If you’ve never watched The Shining while you’ve had a fever, you  haven't lived.)

Killer Klowns from Outer Space is a gas — a slice of ‘80s horror/comedy filled with bad examples of both, but still a fun title and, I’d even argue, a staple of the genre. Written and directed by the Chiodo brothers, known for their practical effects work and monstrous Hollywood creations, it should be no surprise that the most engaging aspect of Killer Klowns are the clowny creations themselves — them, their weapons, their abilities, and eventually, their spacecraft. Whatever you may think of Killer Klowns from Outer Space as a horror film or a comedy, it never fails to impress as a visual delight of imaginative and well constructed practical effects.

Killer Klowns from Outer Space was for years a video store staple and then following that a cable staple (hence my first interaction with it), and its reputation has only grown over the years. It’s very silly, almost too much at times, but goddamn if it’s not exactly as its makers intended. It’s a sly cartoon masquerading as a horror film, and the joy of seeing John Vernon (Dirty Harry, Charley Varrick), of all people, interacting with those delightful clowns from space makes it all worth it. Not hurting is the presence of Suzanne Snyder, who appeared in enough ‘80s fare (Weird Science, Return of the Living Dead 2, Night of the Creeps, Retribution) that my crush on her during a young age lasted at least through the ‘90s.

For years, the Chiodo brothers have been teasing a sequel, and it’s truly a bummer that they haven’t gotten one to materialize. ‘80s nostalgia is huge at the moment and shows no signs of going away; it’s a perfect opportunity for them to resurrect our favorite galaxial clowns for another round of greasepaint mayhem and very broad humor — before someone remakes it.

ATTACK OF THE KILLER TOMATOES (1978)

 

Seeing Attack of the Killer Tomatoes is like a rite of passage. It's also one of the dumbest movies you will ever see, which obviously makes up most of its charm. Mostly a spoof of the radioactive scare films from the ‘50s that saw insects or animals growing many times its size and going after all the pretty blondes on the beach, Attack of the Killer Tomatoes hedges most of its bets on comedy (because, come on, not a single one of our celebrated horror directors could make mutant tomatoes scary). Depending on your sensibilities, Attack of the Killer Tomatoes offers an extremely polarizing experience, with viewers easily existing either in the love-it or hate-it camps. It doesn’t leave a whole lot of ground for the in-betweeners. Yet, somehow, that’s where I stand.

The comedy in Attack of the Killer Tomatoes vies for Naked Gun, and sometimes it’s successful, but other times it results in something akin to Epic Movie — awkward, unfunny gags that play out far longer than we could ever want. And, sometimes, it’s…a little racist, such as the Japanese doctor being purposely overdubbed by an “American” voice, who in one scene accidentally knocks a framed photo of the U.S.S. Arizona into a fish tank. And then, out of nowhere, Attack of the Killer Tomatoes will tread that line of pure absurdism; example: the only way to kill the marauding mutant tomatoes is by playing them the newest hit single, “Puberty Love,” which is as poorly performed as you can imagine. Because of this, the film makes for a hodgepodge of different comedic styles, some of which gels, and some of which doesn’t.

Attack of the Killer Tomatoes boasts an innovative DIY aesthetic that’s to be absolutely commended, and it must've done something right, considering this goofball film is still being talked about to this day. It also boasts THREE sequels (one titled Killer Tomatoes Eat France! and one that stars a pre-fame George Clooney) and an animated television series. When a film’s a hit, it’s a hit, regardless if that success is mainstream or cult. To make something that stands the test of time is something most filmmakers could ever hope for, and — like it or not — Attack of the Killer Tomatoes is still with us.

THE 'TEEN WOLF' SERIES (1985-1987)

Every decade of filmdom can be easily defined by some if its choicest titles. Say the 1970s, you might think The Godfather, or Taxi Driver, or Apocalypse Now. Say the 1990s, you might say The Silence of the Lambs or The Cable Guy (haw haw). But say the 1980s, and the titles are seemingly endless. Never before has a decade been so reinforced by its penchant for excess and absurdism, along with the pop culture it created. The 1980s…where to start. The Breakfast Club. Back to the Future. Fast Times at Ridgemont High.

And oh yes, Teen Wolf, that odd parable about boys becoming men and getting hair in places they didn’t have before, or noticing girls and wanting to go in closets with them, is one of the most ‘80s films that the ‘80s ever happened to. The music (James House!), the fashions (I wear my sunglasses indoors!), the hair (wolf and non-wolf alike!) – Teen Wolf wasn’t just made during the ‘80s, but it’s of the ‘80s; it is the ‘80s: when films were daring in their willingness to be stupid on purpose, and when two guy friends could call each other “fag” in the comfort of their own van. Yes, the 1980s were king.

Teen Wolf was one of the first somewhat genre-oriented films to embrace the “coming of age” aesthetic that was in its infant stage of becoming a go-to trope: an adolescent experiencing a physical, emotional, or mental renaissance that would see them transitioning from childhood to adulthood. Teen Wolf boasted one of the more outlandish approaches to “coming of age,” comparing puberty and sexual awakening to literally becoming the Wolf Man, but amusingly the film actually does a good job of slowly introducing this concept. NASA-sized suspensions of disbelief are required less for the fact that this is happening, but more for the notion that everyone at school seems totally cool with this. During minute one, there’s Scott the Boy: he sucks and everyone hates him. During minute two, there’s Scott the Wolf and he’s an instant fucking legend. Alan Turing had to create the modern computer system, get chemically castrated for being gay, commit cyanide suicide, and STILL wait fifty years before the masses cheered for him. Scott Howard The Wolf only needed thirty seconds during a single basketball period.

Societal progress!

Teen Wolf, silly though it may be, is essential ‘80s cinema. It’s not the best that the decade has to offer, but it certainly embodies the decade much better than other films from the same era that one might argue are better made. 

As usual, Teen Wolf Too falls victim to the comedy sequel: it strives to hit the same comedic beats, follow the same path, etc. It’s not quite as derivative as Airplane 2: The Sequel, which literally recycled every good joke from the original, but it’s very close. However, while it’s bad enough that Teen Wolf Too seems totally fine reveling in redundancy, therein lies an additional problem which basically torpedoes Teen Wolf Too right from the start: Jason Batemen, who fills in for Michael J. Fox as the new Scott Howard.

After toiling in 1990s obscurity following the end of the Brat Pack era (he was nearly cast in Freddy vs. Jason – for serious) and enjoying a career resurgence thanks to the brilliant Arrested Development, Batemen has been back in full force enjoying many different manners of films and television: acting, writing, and directing. As a comedic voice, his talent is immense, and as a dramatic one, he’s surprisingly nuanced and mature. But all that aside, one thing remains: guy plays an excellent dick. Following his semi-dick role of Michael Bluth, he’s transitioned into many other film roles where he…plays more of a dick, with a biting sense of humor and a sharp tongue. Some people are naturally capable of this, in the same way other people are naturally capable of the exact opposite. When one thinks of Michael J. Fox, Marty McFly comes to mind – America’s wholesome, plucky boy next door – someone who will take your daughter’s virginity, but be lovably flustered about it the whole time. When one thinks of Jason Batemen, your mind fills with a dick, complete with snide smile and really nice sweater. Ergo, opting to have Batemen fill in as Scott Howard for this go-round results in his turning the character into kind of a dick. And it’s not just his performance that’s to blame, either, but also the script, which is intent on pursuing a kind of Dickensian (pun not intended but I’ll take it) reformation story that sees Howard starting off shy, becoming a dick, but then re-embracing his humanity again by film’s end. Along the way he’ll excel at sports, woo the girl, isolate and then win back his best boy chum, and befriend Kim Darby – a page torn from the journal of our own lives.

Teen Wolf Too is a weak sequel – generally bandied about on those “worst sequels of all time” lists that movie sites love to run. And, frankly speaking, it deserves to be there. Its plot is recycled, its conflict redundant, and its lead is unlikable. Except for a single fun montage set to Oingo Boingo, this sequel will leave you howling in pain haw haw sorry. (If you want to check out the REAL sequel to Teen Wolf, then locate the nearest copy of Teen Witch, stat.)

DISCO GODFATHER (1979)

As far as I’m concerned, the Blaxploitation movement can be divided into two parts: the normal ones, and the ones with Rudy Ray Moore. The singer/musician/comedian/actor/producer and all-around jack-of-all-trades was one of the most famous faces in Blaxploitation – one whose Dolemite persona would launch a reasonably well known career. Previously and hilariously described as “a uniquely articulate pimp,” Moore’s creation of Dolemite, whose penchant for long, rhyming diatribes belted in his halting voice, would go on to create a post-Blaxploitation iconic rhythm and sound that would remain with the genre even after his death in 2008. (The character of Bullhorn in 2009’s surprise cult hit Black Dynamite, for instance, was heavily inspired by Moore’s unforgettable tenor, and can be heard as the trailer’s narrator.)

And it wasn’t just Rudy Ray Moore’s presence that made his run of films, including The Human Tornado, Petey Whitestraw, and this, Disco Godfather, so successful, but it was that Moore had the foresight to play the concepts of nearly all of them completely straight. Though The Human Tornado betrays this just a bit, relying more on comedy than the film it’s sequelizing, Dolemite, Moore’s filmography was grounded on playing the title character whose prestige and adoration could have only existed in the world of fiction. Thirty years before Will Ferrell would find similar but much more mainstream fame in playing comedic ego-maniacal characters, Moore was a kung-fu fighting, lady-bedding, rhyme-shouting “uniquely articulate pimp” who could garner the kinds of laughs that leave you wondering if he’s being serious or not. With multiple opportunities seized to show off his not-great body in a manner suggesting he boasted the same physique as Black Belt Jones’ Jim Kelly, or to engage in very poorly choreographed fight scenes, Moore is a constant on-screen force who elevates material either admittedly well worn or absolutely unique. (Disco Godfather is definitely the latter.)

Disco Godfather would not only serve as Moore’s last leading performance of the 1980s, but also serve as the most befuddling and odd film of his career. A drug-scare film baked on high in the Blaxploitation oven, Moore plays the titular character (literally called “Mr. Disco” or “Mr. Godfather” by others) as a righteous discotheque/club owner who sees his promising basketball-playing nephew fall victim to the newest drug on the streets – angel dust – which causes the poor lad to suffer hallucinations in which demonic nuns growl through fangs and cut off his arms with a machete. If you’re thinking, “that sounds hilariously outlandish,” that’s because it is – and again, none of this is played for laughs, but it’s beautifully tempting to theorize that perhaps Moore and his crew had discovered the joys of what’s known as the straight-faced comedy long before anyone else. The earnestness of the writing and performances and, to be fair, the poor filmmaking, are what make Disco Godfather, and Dolemite before it, so infectiously entertaining. And regardless of the inspiration, let’s not forget that, putting aside the sheer insanity, Disco Godfather proudly boasts a strong anti-drug message, showing its users as straitjacket bound in mental asylums or being spiritually torn apart by red-eyed demons. Yes, again, the film surrounding this message is absolutely absurd, but at least it was about something.

Blaxploitation sub-genre aside, Disco Godfather is a relic of its time for another reason: the soundtrack. Disco Godfather wants to get out there and make it sound good, can you dig it? Sooo much disco is on hand throughout — disco music, disco sequences, disco lifestyle, and disco flava. Probably half of the film’s 90-minute running time is dedicated to scenes of people dancing disco and Moore encouraging — nay, insisting — that they “put more weight on it.” One particular dance sequence lasts a staggering nine minutes, which sees Mr. Godfather’s club patrons dancing disco the only way they know how – discoey – as Moore DJs in the background and urges them to keep dancing. It’s just the tops.

If you’re new to the Blaxploitation movement, I think it would be wise to check in with Foxy Brown, Black Caesar, and even Truck Turner to get a feel for the genre before you dive headlong into the wild world of Rudy Ray Moore. His face, voice, and schtick are very familiar if you “get it” and enjoy that world, but to those with just a cursory knowledge of the genre, he likely won’t come off familiar. (The poor asshole doesn’t even have a photo on his IMDb filmography.) 

Blaxploitation offers its own charm and definitely its own way of doing things, and it’s best to settle in and find your groove before your whole world explodes upon your first high-kick to the face from Dolemite’s platform shoes. To emphatically discover that Disco Godfather had been purposely constructed as a straight-faced comedy would certainly show that Rudy Ray Moore was far more deserving of accolades for his abilities as a comedic performer, but sometimes it’s just more tempting to believe something like Disco Godfather was never driving for laughs, but ended up there anyway.

MICROWAVE MASSACRE (1983)

Have you seen Microwave Massacre?

Jesus. It's terrible, isn't it?

Cut from the same cloth as Attack of the Killer Tomatoes, but with far more classless humor and dialogue, Microwave Massacre is a 76-minute eternity crafted entirely of terrible one-liners and even more terrible special effects. Boasting a healthy 3.6 on IMDB and a too-high 33% on the usually less-forgiving Rotten Tomatoes, Microwave Massacre is one of those films commonly accepted as "the worst of all time." Watching it, it's easy to see why.

Obviously intended as a starring vehicle for Rodney Dangerfield, who wisely said "no" to this thing louder than someone eats popcorn at the movies, your lead maniac is instead played by Jackie Vernon, who apparently existed only to ape Dangerfield's one-liner style but with absolutely none of the pulse.

Within the first five minutes, we get a man unpacking a full, uncooked crab out of his lunch box, an extremely stereotypical gay construction worker, and bare breasts shoved through a hole in a wall (not counting the padded-out opening credits sequence also complemented by a close-up on swaying breasts). And if you think this is just the film finding its footing before embarking on a more traditional, less exploitative path, well brother, you ain't seen Microwave Massacre.

Microwave Massacre is 76 minutes of Jackie Vernon making awful one-liners to himself, with no one else around to hear them, all while wrapping up body parts with tin foil and shoving them into his refrigerator. You'd think I was just exaggerating, but no, that's really all this is. Sure, he kills the occasional girl while making extremely derogatory and misogynistic comments toward/about them, but that doesn't exactly make the film sound any more appetizing. If it does, you're an asshole, and Microwave Massacre was made for you.

For those who have never seen Microwave Massacre and are considering a blind-buy, holy shit, I have no idea how to guide you. Do you like Troma? The Sharknado films? Are you a fool? If so, then I dunno--you might still hate it. But it'll be a good conversation starter when someone begins looking through your collection and inevitably stops on the spine and inquires, "Is this for real?"

As a film, Microwave Massacre deserves an utter zero, but I gave it a half-point because I laughed exactly once (the punchline for the drive-thru gag) and I was feeling charitable. 

Microwave Massacre deserves to be beaten and left for dead in a hole, but fans of terrible humor, DIY gore gags, and hating themselves might find some enjoyment.

PSYCHOS IN LOVE (1987)

Right off the bat it’s clear that Psychos in Love is operating on a nearly non-existent budget. Somewhat shot to look like a documentary (sometimes, anyway – director Gorman Bechard seems to play fast and loose with this concept and what’s supposed to be documentary footage vs. narrative gets a little lost), Psychos in Love’s full-screen presentation with basement level audio (high-def presentation aside) complements the mostly true-life nature toward which its striving. Black and white interview segments with its lead psychos lend itself to this docudrama look very well, and also help to set the tone pretty quickly.

Psychos in Love begins on shaky ground as the audience has to take a step back and realize they’re not about to witness an A-list, even modestly budgeted genre flick. Everything is very raw, and there’s an obvious DIY aesthetic throughout, but the performances by our leads are very naturalistic. What might be most surprising about Psychos in Love is how often the comedy works, and that sounds like a dismissive thing to say about a film that bills itself as a horror-comedy, but so very often the words “low budget” and “horror-comedy” only lead to pain. As one might imagine, the comedy often lends itself to the dark and morbid, but sometimes the film takes a step back and rests on older, broader comedy. The marriage scene leans on Abbot and Costello’s most famous routine, but still manages to wrench some honest laughs out of it, and there’s an even better scene set at the bar where psycho Joe is having a duel conversation with both psycho Kate and a random Asian man in the back of the action – one of those “how long are they going to keep this bit going?” kind of things – and it left me pretty tickled.

Above all Psychos in Love does manage to be sweet on top of the murder and mutilations (and there are plenty of those), and leads Carmine Capobianco (also the film’s co-writer) and Debi Thibeault are easily likable, with Capobianco showing off a natural affability.

I have to admit, intriguing premise aside, I didn’t think I was going to enjoy Psychos in Love as much as I did. I’m a self-admitted snoot, and I tend not to go out of my way to see this level of low budget horror — and one that’s billed as a horror/comedy, forget it. Time and time again I’m proven wrong for this when I cross paths with something surprisingly well made like Psychos in Love.

For those of you out there lucky enough to be paired up with a horror-loving partner, Psychos in Love makes for the ideal date-night movie. Just leave expectations for a glossy production at the door.

THE GREASY STRANGLER (2016)

Sometimes you watch a film. Sometimes a film happens to you. The latter is far less common, but when it does occur, it often makes for an unforgettable experience, regardless of whether you love it or hate it.

The Greasy Strangler is not a film you watch. It’s a film that happens to you.

A quasi would-be love child between Rubber and Wrong director Quentin Dupieux and Adult Swim icons Tim and Eric, The Greasy Strangler is earnestly, joyfully, and relentlessly insane — a smorgasbord of absurdism, gross-out humor, and violence so purposely stupid that it barely registers as offensive. (Oh, and let’s not forget all that disco.) Odd characters wearing odd clothes, saying and doing odd things, and looking like every repulsive “people of Walmart” meme you ever saw — that’s The Greasy Strangler.

Making his feature film directorial debut, Jim Hosking had absolutely no interest in transitioning from the world of short films into a project a bit more traditional. Along with co-writer Toby Harvard, Hosking has created one of the oddest and quirkiest films in recent and not-so-recent memory, filling it with a collection of absolutely loathsome and selfish characters engaging in a Fight Club-ish love/sex triangle so nauseating but conflictingly funny that it actually has the power to make every sexual act known to man kind of silly, and almost an embarrassing activity in which to engage even for the super beautiful.

And I haven’t even mentioned the fact that the patriarch of this queasy threesome, Big Ronnie (a very brave Michael St. Michaels) just also happens to cover himself in thick sheens of homemade grease before taking to the streets to strangle an array of people who apparently had it coming until their eyes pop out of their skulls like Judge Doom in the finale of Who Framed Roger Rabbit? The choosing of Ronnie’s victims are hilariously superficial, and despite being the walking humanoid opposite of Hannibal Lecter’s esteem, grace, and opulence, the good doctor would very much approve of Ronnie’s going after those who exhibited rudeness. There’s no motive to Ronnie’s choice of victim beyond they were dicks to him — either by their nature, or in response to how much of a dick Big Ronnie had been to them during a previous interaction. The motivelessness of Ronnie’s murders would hinder literally any other kind of film, but this is The Greasy Strangler we’re talking about — it simply doesn’t matter.

Caught in the middle is Big Ronnie’s son, Big Brayden (Sky Elobar, a doppelganger for Eric Wareheim of the before mentioned Tim and Eric comedy duo), who wrestles with whether or not to report to the authorities that his father is “The Greasy Strangler” — that is until he meets his “girlfriend” Janet (Elizabeth De Razzo), after whom Big Ronnie also begins lusting. It’s when the love triangle portion of the conflict comes into play that Big Brayden decides it’s time to act.

And so many old, red-tipped, uncircumcised dicks (“it looks like a big mouse head!”) will be flashed.

Attempting to properly review The Greasy Strangler to an unsuspecting readership is like trying to describe a Bosch painting to a person born blind. You can try — and it’ll take forever — but there’s no use. The only way to appreciate the majestic lunacy of The Greasy Strangler is to see it for yourself. 

Do you enjoy the exploits of Adult Swim? An unfettered fan of Check It Out with Dr. Steve Brule? Were you fascinated by the plotless/beplotted killer tire horror satire Rubber? Do you have a strong stomach and enjoy the sight of plump bodies in all kinds of sex positions? The Greasy Strangler might be your new favorite film; it might also be the absolute worst thing you ever see in your life, leaving you cursing the people who made it, distributed it, and recommended it (like me). A very adult version of Napoleon Dynamite but without the irritation (depending on your particular brand of humor, that is), let The Greasy Strangler happen to you and make up your own mind.

Just don’t forget to shower in the car wash afterward.

REVIEW: PRESIDENT WOLFMAN

President Wolfman is less of a narrative and more of a film-making experiment. It asks the questions: Can a coherent AND entertaining film be made from existing material and stock footage? Can you overdub nearly all of this original footage with new voice actors and maintain consistency? Conceptually based primarily on 1973's Werewolf of Washington starring Dean Stockwell, upon which a large portion of this new film's footage has been assembled, President Wolfman manages to revitalize an older obscure title, re-imagine it in the goofiest of ways possible, actually manage to carry forward a cohesive plot, and even lampoon the current political climate all at the same time. (It also has its own theme song!)

President John Wolfman (pronounced Wolfmin, and still played by Dean Stockwell) has a problem: not only do a majority of Americans support the Chimerica proposal (which is essentially China buying the United States flat-out [tell me that hasn't happened already]), and not only has he been saddled with a do-nothing congress (hey, wait a minute!), but he's also a fucking werewolf. Hilarity ensues as he deals with those problems.

Anyone who knows me and my weird film habits knows that I am a sucker for a stupid title, especially when it comes to so-bad-it's-good cinema. It's the reason why I've actually sat through stuff like Ninja Terminator and Crazy Fat Ethel 2. With those kinds of titles comes a certain kind of expectation: to be goofy, amusing, never boring, and despite all good intentions, misfiring by 100%. Films like these are novelty; they exist in their own strange sub-sub-sub-genre of horror where nothing else will ever be quite like it, and they carry such ill-conceived concepts that one has to wonder how on earth they ever made it to celluloid. It was because of this I enthusiastically sat down with President Wolfman, expecting to see a rather straightforward film about the President of the United States of America suffering from lycanthropy. And while I did kinda-sorta see that, I saw this other thing, too: a sort of "Mystery Science Theater 3000"/Black Dynamite/Kentucky Fried Movie hybrid boasting a very specific kind of humor: immature. 

Have a sample below:

- "67%. That's what the polls say."

- "I don't listen to polls. They are tall pieces of wood that can't talk, used for holding telephone wires and escaped bears."

Or:

"No wonder they call you Speaker of the House. You never shut the fuck up."

Or maybe:

"You got the lucky shift. You're assigned to President John Wolfman himself. You have to shave his balls, take his butt temperature in his butt, and get a penis sample."

That's the caliber of humor you'll be getting with President Wolfman.

While obviously not for everyone, it's certainly for someone. I'm not going to say I laughed at every gag, but I definitely had a good time.

Fans of immature, off-color, politically incorrect, and flat-out fucked up humor should definitely check this out.  

#HALLOWEEN: DVD REVIEW: WNUF HALLOWEEN SPECIAL

To drench yourself in my love for the WNUF Halloween Special, refer to my previous in-depth review. Everything I could have said about the film I believe was already said. Instead I'll be going through the DVD release that Alternative Cinema was kind enough to send me. Strictly put, it's essential Halloween viewing.

Writer/director Chris LaMartina gets things going with a solo audio commentary. If you're even a casual listener of audio commentaries, you may have found that when some folks go solo, they can tend to fill their recording time with long bouts of silence, having no one by their side to spur them on and ask questions. That's not the problem here. LaMartina hits the ground running with his inspirations behind the project, how it came to be, and what he ultimately envisioned. He speaks rapidly and throws a lot of information at you, none of which is ever superfluous. The nature of the film, which is essentially one huge montage, has him leaping from point to point, and in terms of words per minute, puts Tarantino to shame.

Much of what I wondered while watching the film for the first time - the origin of the footage used, if the filmmakers shot it themselves or sifted through public domain stuff - is answered. Basically, it comes from everywhere! He also confirms his shout-out to The Monster Squad, which makes me feel like a total nerd for even picking up on it the first time. Yay!

Also included are additional commercials created specifically for the film but cut from the final running time. They range from awkward to amusing to slightly faux-erotic (and even contain a reference to Motel Hell). You'll love the "safe sex" commercial. That AIDs gag amazed me.

The next feature shows a side-by-side comparison showing what the original footage looked like versus the final version, after copying one VHS to the next three times. It's neat strictly on a technical level and is quite brief. Generally some video labels, like Criterion, will do the exact opposite when showing just how well they were able to remaster a film. Not here!

Moving right along are an amusing collection of bloopers, line flubs, and alternate dialogue. (That fucking vampire in the crowd kills it every time.)

Finishing things off are "Rewinding the Fast Forward," which shows in their entirety the sequences fast-forwarded during the film; something called "Meadowlands Showcase," which, frankly, defies description; and some trailers.

DVDs are available directly from the distributor, Alternative Cinema, and I honestly can't recommend it enough. I have a very small collection of films I make sure to watch every Halloween week. Going forward, WNUF Halloween Special will be part of that list.

---

For decades, obscure film collectors and lovers of esoteric cinema have sought it... 

Finally, the search is over… Originally broadcast live on October 31, 1987, the "WNUF Halloween Special" is a stunning expose of terrifying supernatural activity that unfolded at the infamous Webber House, the site of ghastly murders. Local television personality Frank Stewart leads a group of paranormal investigators including Catholic exorcist, Father Joseph Matheson and the prolific husband-and-wife team Louis and Claire Berger. Together, the experts explore the darkest corners of the supposedly haunted Webber House, trying to prove the existence of the demonic entities within. Did they find the horrific truth or simply put superstitious rumors to rest?

SPECIFICATIONS: 82 mins. (171 mins. TRT) / Horror / Color / Not Rated / 4x3 / Region 0 / English / Stereo 

SPECIAL FEATURES:

• Audio Commentary with writer/director Chris LaMartina

• WNUF Commercials

• Bloopers and outtakes

• “Rewinding the FF”

• Trailers

• Meadowlands Showcase Halloween Show

• Aging the Video

 

THE REVENANT (2012)

I don't think I've ever waited as long for a movie to come out – from first announcement to final release – as I have for Kerry Prior's The Revenant. The film, first announced back in the netherworld of 2008, has always hovered in the recesses of my mind as I waited for a release, and as 2008 became 2009, and then 2010 and so forth, from time to time that gentle, nagging question would pop into my head: hey, where the fuck's The Revenant?

Four long years it has taken for it to finally mingle with the masses. Forget all the film festival stuff and those lucky websites out there with the mojo and name recognition to obtain an early view. This shit's finally on video.

So was it worth it? Four years of waiting, perusing the usual websites for news, and even checking in with Prior himself? Could it really have been worth all of that time?

You bet your ass it was.

Back in 2008 when news first hit, The Revenant was nothing more than a zombie movie. It was hard to track down specific plot details, and beyond the movie obviously falling within the confines of horror, there was no indication of what direction the film would take. But based on what the movie seemed to be about, and more so based on who was involved (Kerry Prior – more on him in a second), I became instantly intrigued.

So, is The Revenant a zombie movie? Perhaps a vampire movie, as other reviewers have labeled it? Nah – it's neither. Obviously, it's about a revenant – a spirit that returns from the dead in corporeal form.

Barthenoy Gregory (Bart for short, played by David Anders) is a lieutenant in the US Army. While tearing ass across the desert in a Humvee smack-dab in the middle of Baghdad, he is shot down by a band of machine-gun-toting Iraqis. He receives a hero's burial, and his girlfriend, Janet (Louise Griffiths), is a mess. Bart's best friend, Joey (Chris Wylde, a seeming amalgamation of Nic Cage, Paul Giamatti, and Aaron Paul), does his best to comfort her. Then they kinda-sorta have sex. 

Bart, for reasons unknown, returns from the dead and to his best friend's door. Joey is simultaneously horrified, disgusted, and overjoyed to see that his best friend has returned. Despite his horrid appearance, they act like everything is normal (though admittedly weird). But it seems Bart can't hold down normal food without spewing torrential black blood, and after a discussion of just what Bart is – zombie? vampire? ah, a revenant – it's determined he needs fresh blood to keep himself from decomposing. So off to the hospital they go, which is just the first of their many misadventures.

For the first three years or so of The Revenant's struggle for tangibility, I had no idea that it was meant to be a comedy. And three years ago, the idea of making a low budget zombie movie hadn't yet become as saturated as it is today. But in the past year, once things began heating up for Prior et al., I was surprised, and admittedly disappointed at first, to learn The Revenant was a horror/comedy hybrid. In my experience, many filmmakers try to combine the two, and for the most part, fail. Edgar Wright's Shaun of the Dead is an ingeniously screaming example of when it works. And I suppose that's the best measuring stick to use for The Revenant. It is, after all, about two slacker-like fellows (despite the one's presence in the military) trying to live life as they normally did, even though one of them is dead. Humor derives from this conflict almost effortlessly, as well as from the rapid-fire dialogue, peppered with the kind of sarcasm of which Kevin Smith was capable during his very short peak. And the humor works, every single time. Not one single joke or gag goes by that will not elicit at least a smile. For instance, after Joey takes Bart to the hospital following his recent resurrection – and after it's been well established that Bart spews blood like a geyser, had to snip off the mortician's thread keeping his lips closed, and is also most definitely dead – he writes "general malaise" for his purpose of visit on his emergency room form. And there's no way you're not laughing at that.

Prior, serving double-duty as writer and director, has absolute confidence in the story he is telling. For what was most assuredly a low budget, Prior stretches every dollar – every cent – to masterful effect. The Revenant looks like a multi-million dollar movie, including sweeping helicopter shorts, on-location shooting in both Los Angeles and Iran, and some of the best special effects I've ever seen for such a low budget. That last bit shouldn't be all that surprising, as Prior made quite a career having done special effects for such films as Phantasm II, The Abyss, and Air Force One. (It was his affiliation with the Phantasm series that had instantly piqued my interest in The Revenant's announcement way back when.) Because the bulk of the action takes place on L.A. streets, the city itself becomes a character, and Prior aids that transition with his completely fair and objective take on the City of Angels. Much like any other major city in the world, there are areas that are beautiful and completely iconic, and there are other areas that belong to the unscrupulous, the deviant, and the dangerous. Joey and Bart find themselves mingling in both worlds, but it's in that second world where they are reborn as the media-dubbed "Vigilante Gunmen," who dispatch the criminals that have it coming so Bart can have a go at "sucking them off."

All of that "big" stuff aside, what most impressed me about the film were the small details – stuff normally included in more standard movies so it can serve a purpose later. For example, for several scenes that take place in Joey's apartment, you can hear through the wall the reoccurring and shaky practicing of scales on a piano. The person playing the piano never becomes a character, is never referred to, and is never even shown. There is no reaction shot of them included to induce a cheap moment of comedy. It's just a small, perhaps unnoticed, but very appreciated detail. Because it's the soft, unsteady piano playing you hear through the wall that makes life what it is. It's the boring stuff, the mundane. We don't all live grand lives. Not all of us will one day do great things. We'll go to work, come home, make a half-hearted dinner, and hear what our neighbors are doing through the walls. 

And at its root, that's what The Revenant is about. In the film's third act, Joey relents the lack of life he and Bart have lived. He talks of all the big important things they had always talked about doing, but never managed to do. And, in the middle of this very foul-mouthed, morbid buddy comedy, that's very saddening. 

For most of its running time, The Revenant wants to make you laugh, and in that regard the film is a complete success. But there are also times where Prior wants us all to step back and realize that the events that have befallen our characters are actually quite tragic, and so for brief stretches there is no humor, and what we see is to be taken quite seriously. But it never interrupts the flow of what is by and large a comedy. 

The Revenant ends in a surprisingly bleak and cynical fashion, which reinforces this idea of life over which Joey and Bart mourned earlier in the film. Each major character suffers an ending that, in a more typical genre movie, would be either gloriously dramatic or cheaply amusing, depending on the intended reaction. But here, in The Revenant, our characters' arcs end in very anti-climactic ways. This is not a weakness in Prior's script or intent, but once again is another confirmation that that's just life. We don't end big and bad. We don't go out in a blaze of glory. We die in the kitchen, or under a bridge. We die without last words and without having accomplished our goals, meager as they may have been. 

Prior has a lot to say, and he uses The Revenant to say it. Setting the film in Los Angeles allows him to fill his script with references to different ethnicities and the difficulties that come from their co-habitation. He has a lot to say about war and our completely unsympathetic government. He has a lot to say about the human spirit and how it can become easily corrupted once someone hits what Chuck Palahniuk has dubbed "rock bottom." But he also has a lot to say about the bonds of friendship and how literally death cannot kill the love that Joey and Bart share "in a completely non-gay way."(And if there is any movie on the planet that perfectly encapsulates the mantra "bro's before hoes," it's definitely this one.)

I sincerely hope that The Revenant is just the first of many genre offerings that Prior will be gifting to us in a hopefully long career. I hope the long road to getting his directorial debut out in the world hasn't exhausted him in such a way that he's wary about working on his next project. As far as first films go, The Revenant is a remarkable achievement. It is hilarious, sarcastic, touching, sad, and angering. It takes a well-worn concept and infuses it with a tremendous amount of contagious energy.

Four years later, I have a gigantic smile on my face. 

Special Features

As far as features go, the DVD includes a brief behind-the-scenes look at the making of the movie. There are no sit-down interviews here, but a more fly-on-the-wall approach that mostly captures the mugging going on behind the scenes involving the two leads and the producer kind of making an ass out of himself in more than one situation. The approach to this mini making-of as well as the action captured shows that, regardless of the long battle Prior may have fought in getting the film completed, it looked like a hell of a lot of fun.

Two feature commentaries – the first with Prior and the second with the cast – as well as the trailer for this film and other Lionsgate offerings are also included.

Speaking of, I'd like to very quickly thank Lionsgate for having faith in Kerry Prior and picking this film up for release. They're a studio that gets a lot of shit for their complete whoring of the Saw series, as well as their hundreds of completely inexorable direct-to-video travesties they unleash on us year after year, but after their salvation of both this and the recent Cabin in the Woods, I have to give credit where credit is due. There is no other studio out there taking the kinds of chances that Lionsgate is taking, and so for that, they have my gratitude.

REVIEW: THE DISCO EXORCIST

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