MISS PEREGRINE'S HOME FOR PECULIAR CHILDREN

I tend to buy books in bulk. It’s an impulse that I can’t control, which I’m fine with. In my estimation, a person can never have too many—unless of course they begin to line the walls in stacks and cover every inch of free space. I haven’t reached that stage yet, so I’m still good.

I mention this because by the time I finally picked up and read Miss Peregrine’s Home for Peculiar Children after having bought it months ago, I had completely forgotten what it was about. All I remembered at the time, before I began reading, was that the book made use of strange, vintage photographs from the early party of the 20th century, which were woven through the story to add visuals of our characters where possible.

So with only that knowledge in mind, I began to read.

Admittedly, the story did not immediately grab me—at least not in the way I wanted to be grabbed. Based on the cover of the book – and the gimmick of these old photos – I wanted something creepy. I wanted a tale about unnerving, diabolical children. I wasn’t even sure I wanted a strict narrative. Because of my obsession with true crime material, I probably wanted a dossier-like account of these children and what it was that made them so peculiar (read: deadly); and with their photos would come their names, their origins, under what circumstances they had become institutionalized in Miss Peregrine’s home…and in what foul ways they had murdered their victims.

What I got instead was Peter Pan meets X-Men.

Because of this, I admit to being disappointed throughout the first act of the book, yet continuing to read, anyway. The book focused more on fantasy and adventure than horror (not that I'm not adverse to those former two, mind you, but when you're expecting horror, you want horror), and so I was tempted to tune out. I was glad I didn’t, however, as the story eventually hooked me.

Our first-person narrator is sixteen-year-old Jacob Portman. His relationship with his grandfather is paramount, and when the old man tragically dies – possibly at the claws of a monstrous creature – Jacob is shattered. As the boy sits next to his dying grandfather, the old man uses his last breath to mutter to Jacob random phrases, seemingly incoherent and without meaning.

No one believes Jacob about the animal he believes was the result of his grandfather’s demise, telling him it was most likely a wild dog, so he begins his own investigation into what may have happened—and what the old man’s last words were all about.

One thing leads to another and Jacob finds himself on a faraway island, accompanied by his father, to learn more about the time his grandfather had spent there as a boy—living in an orphanage headed by Miss Peregrine.

There Jacob meets all manner of peculiar children with an array of peculiar talents. They shoot bees from their mouths, float effortlessly above the ground as if filled with helium, give life to inanimate objects using animal hearts; one child is outright invisible. Among them is Emma, a girl with whom Jacob will grow undeniably – and uncomfortably – infatuated.

What immediately strikes you about the book is how realistically it’s written, even as the events become more and more fantastical to the point of bordering on cornball. The story honestly feels like absurdly embellished memoirs instead of a traditional novel. Specific traits and interests, and even weaknesses and flaws, are added to different characters, fleshing them out and making them feel as if they are based on real people.

The real draw to me was the budding relationship between Jacob and Emma, which effortlessly made me recall my own romances from that age—something that still fills me with both fondness and regret. Without giving much away, Jacob does his best to resist falling for Emma, though they had already shared a very complicated relationship before ever meeting each other.

My only real gripe with the book has to do with its main selling point—the photographs. While the majority of the photos do add to the story, some do not, and at times felt like they were crammed into the book by the author with their inclusion being explained by some "Family Guy"-ish “remember that time?” anecdotes. I can understand having access to such strange and fascinating photos and wanting to use them, but some could easily have been excised and not affected the story. Not to mention that the placement of the photos also throws off the formatting of the book. In some cases, there may only a single paragraph on an entire page, because a photo will take up all of the following one. It’s a minor gripe, but after a while this choice interrupts the flow of the story

The book was a quick and easy read, and I’m glad I persisted on following it to the end, even after part of me had checked out. It was equal parts amusing, saddening, and unusual.

While the book's main conflict is resolved, it is clearly set up for further adventures. From what I understand, author Ransom Riggs has not announced any kind of sequel, but in this day and age when serialized young adult lit is huge, I wouldn't be surprised if he has the next three books outlined in his mind already. 

It was recently announced that Tim Burton will be bringing Miss Peregrine’s Home for Peculiar Children to the bring screen. While I wish the man would direct a movie based on one of his own original scripts again (which is when we get stuff like Edward Scissorhands and Beetlejuice), I have to admit this book is pretty much perfect for his fixation on Gothic visuals and dour characters.

Also, five bucks says Helena Bonham-Carter plays the titular role.

MYSTERY MAN

We've met before, haven't we?

I don't think so. Where was it you think we met?

At your house. Don't you remember?

No. No, I don't. Are you sure?

Of course. As a matter of fact, I'm there right now.

What do you mean? You're where right now?

At your house.

That's fuckin' crazy, man.

Call me. Dial your number. Go ahead.

[Fred dials the number and the Mystery Man answers]

[over the phone] I told you I was here.

How'd you do that?

Ask me.

[into phone] How did you get inside my house?

[voice] You invited me. It is not my custom to go where I am not wanted.

Who are you?

[Both Mystery Men laugh mechanically]

[voice] Give me back my phone.

It's been a pleasure talking to you.


If we don't, remember me.

UNSUNG HORRORS: FRAILTY

Every once in a while, a genuinely great horror movie—one that would rightfully be considered a classic, had it gotten more exposure and love at the box office—makes an appearance. It comes, no one notices, and it goes. But movies like this are important. They need to be treasured and remembered. If intelligent, original horror is supported, then that's what we'll begin to receive, in droves. We need to make these movies a part of the legendary genre we hold so dear. Because these are the unsung horrors. These are the movies that should have been successful, but were instead ignored. They should be rightfully praised for the freshness and intelligence and craft that they have contributed to our genre.

So, better late than never, we’re going to celebrate them now… one at a time.

Dir. Bill Paxton
2001
Lionsgate Films
United States

“I cannot imagine a God who rewards and punishes the objects of his creation and is but a reflection of human frailty.”

— Albert Einstein

Frailty is a sobering look at the impact of religion on the American family. On its surface it’s about demons that may or may not exist, and one man’s belief that he was chosen to slay them with God-given weapons. But at its core it’s about the family unit. It’s about a man and his two sons, and how they are torn apart when one son follows the father, and one does not. And who is right? The son who follows unconditionally, or the son who questions orders and rebels at all costs? The movie is about free will verses destiny. It’s about knowing when to think for yourself, and when to recognize that you’ve become a man. And it’s about realizing everything you know is wrong.

There’s a scene in the beginning of the film where the family sits down to share dinner together. The younger son spoons a large helping of peas onto his plate.

Dad exclaims, “Whoa, Tiger! Save some for us!”

“I sure love peas!” the son shouts.

“I bet! You better be careful or you’ll turn into one!” Dad replies.

Yes, the dialogue exchange is unbearable corny and clichéd. You may even roll your eyes, and that’s fine. That's the point. It’s supposed to come across that way. The filmmakers are willing to embarrass themselves by showing you that this is a typical, American, drama-free, completely undiluted, and ably functioning family. There is not even a hint of something dark and seedy simmering under the surface. Dad is normal. The kids are normal. Life is…normal.

Until God talks to Dad...

It’s a fierce, black, rainy night when Fenton Meiks (Matthew McConaughey) confesses to FBI Agent Wesley Doyle (Powers Boothe) that he knows the identity of the serial murderer plaguing rural Texas who the media has dubbed the God’s Hands killer. Fenton confesses that it’s his own brother, Adam, who earlier in the night took his life because he couldn’t stand what he had become. Being that Fenton has stolen the ambulance containing his brother’s dead body and driven it directly to the FBI headquarters in Dallas, Agent Doyle is understandably wary of anything Fenton might have to tell him. But as the night grows late, Fenton reenacts the past for Agent Doyle, explaining that the events that led up to this night were set in motion long ago…by the boys’ father.

In this past, Bill Paxton plays Dad, the aforementioned father of two sons: Fenton (Matt O’Leary) and Adam (Jeremy Sumpter). The boys’ mother died years ago, and so it’s been just the three of them against the world—which suited them fine. As Fenton says in the movie, “we didn’t need anyone else.” Dad worked as a mechanic during the day, but always came home to his sons in the evening and spent as much time with them as he could. Fenton and Adam, separated by only a few years, lived fairly typical lives, though Fenton was tasked with some of the duties his deceased mother likely would have handled (cooking dinner for the family, keeping an extra eye on Adam). The three were close, and despite the loss of their mother, the boys were happy. They went to the movies, laughed about girls throwing up, and did other things brothers/boys do.

It all changes the night Dad wakes them up in the middle of the night and explains to them both that in a strange vision, in which he was visited by an angel, he learns he was chosen by God to slay demons living amongst humanity in human shells. His weapons in this crusade consist of an ax named Otis, a lead pipe, and a pair of work gloves. To determine who is a demon and who is not, he is to lay his hands upon them, and their sins will be revealed.

Understandably, Fenton immediately doubts his father’s claims, wondering if the stress of single-fatherhood has finally taken its toll. Adam, however, is quick to believe; his young age makes him prone to easily accepting such claims, and if his own father believed them, then why shouldn’t he? Why would his own father lie to him?

The hunt soon begins. Dad orders Fenton to take part, and the boy at first refuses…that is until he realizes that he really has no choice. As much as he believes that his father has gone insane, he still loves him and does not want the family to be torn apart.

It all leads to shocking conclusions that cap off the past sequence as well as the present. Additionally, Frailty ends with my favorite kind of twist—which I won’t reveal here. But those who have seen the film know exactly what I mean.

Bill Paxton does a fantastic job with his meaty role in front of the camera. It’s a tough one to pull off, as he has to bring humanity to a role that audiences will have no choice but to vilify and fear almost from the very beginning. To make the role of Dad clearly villainous and cartoonish would have been a disservice to the smart story by the Texas-born Brent Hanley. Of course it would’ve been easy to root against the “antagonist” as he slithers around grinning ear to ear like Nicolas Cage, covered in blood, punctuating each kill with a truly bad pun. But it’s the strength of Paxton as an actor that he can make Dad flawed, human, and sympathetic—all the while making you feel uncomfortable and hesitant whenever he is on screen. (This is something I often bring up in reviews. I always find characters that skirt the line between antagonist and protagonist to be the most interesting, and the role of Dad is no different.) Put yourself in young Fenton’s shoes: how far would you be willing to go to follow your father? For you, what would be the line between real life and insanity? To our eyes, what Dad is doing is clearly wrong, but he doesn’t believe it to be. He believes he is doing God’s work, and it’s because of this that his work is carried out with care and concern. Like Abraham from the Bible, Dad loves his sons more than anything, but it’s the love for his God that will determine his actions.

Matt O’Leary and Jeremy Sumpter do commendable work with their roles. Let’s be honest, child actors are always a gamble. Their inability to grasp the concept of the kind of movie they are making is always reflected in their performance. Luckily, these two know what they’re doing.

O’Learly puts more work and effort into his role than most established adult actors. He sweats and bleeds and suffers with his character—it gets to the point where you wish you could pluck him off the screen just to get him away from all the misery his life has become. The movie rides on his shoulders, and he pulls it off gracefully.

Younger Sumpter, too, has a tough job. He is reciting lines that, at his young age, must have little to no meaning. The real-life complexities of the idea of a “God” and what people who believe in him are willing to do, even things that seemingly violate basic tenets one learns early on in life—it’s a tough thing for even adults to work their mind around, let alone a child of Sumpter’s age. But he plays his part with great confidence and assurance.

The young actors’ chemistry as brothers is believable, and especially in the case of Sumpter, their performances are utterly in line with how real people would react to such a trauma. As Adam begins to follow his father more and more, he, too, does not become comic bookish and antagonistic. He avoids turning into The Bad Seed. Adam wants nothing more than to follow in his father’s footsteps, even going as far as producing his own “demon list” that God allegedly gave to him—filled with the names of people that have bullied him in the past. The scene in which Dad explains the difference between destroying demons and killing people is morbidly funny. From Fenton’s disbelieving point of view, Dad is clearly out of his mind, and so this explanation between destroying demons and killing humans is hypocritical. (Additionally, there is one sequence in the film where Dad is forced to take the life of a human being in order to protect “the mission”—and upon doing so, he immediately vomits and begins to sob as his sons bury the body, lamenting what he was “forced” to do—that he has only just now become a murderer.)

As Fenton suffers through one punishment after another for not following orders, Adam urges his brother to conform—to believe in his family and accept his own responsibility. He does so with the love and admiration a younger brother has for his older. In his mind, Adam is unable to see why Fenton just won’t join them. It’s intelligently and realistically done.

Powers Boothe will always be a dependable bad ass, no matter the role he is playing. And while he might not have much to do during the first 2/3rds of the film, it’s the last act that shows even as someone as deeply intimidating as Boothe can be shaken under the right circumstances. He so rarely gets to play someone with weakness that when it does happen, it makes the events causing his transformation that much more disturbing.

Despite his slew of truly brainless rom-coms, Matthew McConaughey will always be an actor who makes me turn one eye towards whatever project he has in the works. Yes, he’s made a shit-ton of tepid movies (most with Kate Hudson), but his roles in A Time to Kill, Lincoln Lawyer, and even We Are Marshall proves he has the chops to pull off a great performance, so long as he’s got the passion to do so. His role in Frailty is one that’s quite understated, dark, and disconcerting. Like O'Leary, it’s up to him to make this movie work, and it’s because of him that it does. His performance is supposed to make you think he’s insane, but at the same time, possibly telling the truth—all at once. You’re supposed to question what you are seeing and hearing at all times, because as McConaughey looks at you with his thousand-mile stare, and as his eyes shimmer from the appearance of tears despite the lack of emotion on his face, you have to know that there’s something not 100% right about Fenton Meiks. What filmmakers call an unreliable narrator is the one leading us on this journey into the past—so everything you see on screen must be doubted. Nothing is to be believed.

Lastly, we have Otis, who plays the ax. Yes, the odd choice to have a random name carved into the ax's handle might seem erroneous until you realize that the ax really is a character. Never in the movie is it just a random household tool, but rather something that has the power to tear apart whole families. It comes to represent what Fenton believes to be the lie – the insanity – his father insists on perpetuating. 

The direction by Paxton is quite assured for a first time director. Most actors can make that leap successfully and Paxton is no different. The first appearance of the Meiks house – a former and very isolated residence of the gardeners who tended the Thurman Rose Garden, where the bodies of “demons” are soon to be buried – is haunting, nostalgic, and saddening all at once. As the brother burst from the trees and their large, white, farm-style house looms into view, the music (a subtly simmering score by the usually bombastic Brian Tyler) ceases, and the sounds of cicadas fill the screen. It’s perhaps the most beautiful shot in the film—a fuzzily recollected memory from childhood.

Another sequence that deserves special mention is the taking of the second “demon,” where Fenton is forced to play the part of an upset and crying boy whose dog, Trixie, won’t come out from under the demon’s car. What the soon-to-be-victim thinks are tears of sadness coming from this boy are actually from fear, as Fenton knows what’s about to happen.

(As an aside, the movie also makes awesome use of Johnny Cash’s “Peace in the Valley” in two very well done and connected sequences.)

Frailty is a movie whose ending I am desperate to dissect and explain in all kinds of tangential ways why it’s so awesome, but to those who haven’t yet seen this film, I would hate to ruin it. What I can say about Frailty, however, is that above all, it’s terrifying…because it could happen. And it does, every day. Even today entire wars are begun over the belief that God speaks through his followers and orders them to destroy the unclean and the infidel. And really…what’s scarier? Jason Voorhees wielding an ax and coming at you…or your own father killing someone else in front of you as you beg and plead him to stop?

Most films based on faith, religion, and peoples’ ties to both tend to come down on one side of the fence: either religion is good, or bad. Frailty manages to show you that it’s both. It shows you what it’s done to a simple family that, after losing their wife/mother, has already suffered enough. But it also shows you that sometimes you’re right to have faith, and you’re right to follow it, no matter the circumstances.

THE FP (2012)

For a filmmaker, attempting to manufacture a cult film is a fool's errand. To even try is just as disingenuous as those claims you see from film critics hailing a newly released movie as an "instant classic." No one filmmaker can knowingly create a cult film, and no one film critic can hail a movie as an instant classic. Time, only, will decide if one particular film is worthy of either title.

The FP just might have broken both of those rules in one dope move. 

Conceived and executed by The Trost Brothers (Jason and Brandon), The FP is destined to go down as the most unique film of 2012. I can honestly say I've never seen another film like it, and I absolutely love when I get to say that.

Jtro (Jason Troust) and his brother, Btro (Brandon Barrera), live in a not-too-distant future where underground games of Beat Beat Revolution (a recreated version of the popular arcade hit Dance Dance Revolution) are not only prevalent, but have become the way for gangs to claim dominance over a territory. Hordes of young people gather together in smoky, neon light-filled basement warehouses and watch as two challengers go head-to-head, pumping their legs and twisting their bodies to the roaring techno bouncing off the concrete walls; and when our characters speak, they do so using the most extreme street Ebonics not heard since the days of the NWA. Exclamations of "Oh snap!", "Whack!", and "YEah!! [sic]" flash on the screens during the dance challenge, either encouraging or dissing the dancers' moves.

If you're thinking this concept is ludicrous, that's because it is. And our filmmakers know it is. But that doesn't mean they aren't in on the joke. And wisely, they play this concept as straight as possible. When I tell you that the movie is flat-out hilarious, it's not because there are "jokes" throughout its running time...because there aren't...because the entire movie is the joke. Lines of dialogue like "I challenge you to a beat-off!" or "Dance with your mind, not your feet!" are spoken with the straightest of faces. And the audience who watches from the sidelines as two challengers hit the dance mats for a game of BBR aren't laughing at our characters, because what they see unfolding before them isn't an arcade game, or a joke, but a way of life.

Inexplicably, the entire movie is one absurd allegory of the Civil War. Two gangs, the 248 (the good guys from the north part of Frazier Park) and the 245 (the baddies from the south) are vying for dominance of the FP. The secret "training" headquarters for the 248 is mentioned as once being used in the Underground Railroad movement. The 245 is led by L-Dubba-E (aka Lee, aka Robert E. Lee, general of the Confederate Army). His lesser soldiers wear Confederate soldier hats and proudly display flags of the same. Allusions to Abraham Lincoln are made throughout the film. What it all means I couldn't say, but it's oddly appropriate to see something so historically significant, important, and realistically scary as the Civil War woven through such a strange tapestry of dancing and urban slang.

One smoky night, Btro and L-Dubba-E challenge each other to a game of BBR, and the match grows so heated that Btro literally dies on the mat, sharing an absurdly touching moment with his brother before descending to that big techno club in the sky.

Jtro glares at the heavens as he vows, "I'm never playing Beat Beat Revolution again!" and sets off to a life of isolation as a lumberjack.

But there are people from the FP who haven't forgotten about Jtro, and they beg him to return to his roots and help them regain control of their hometown from the 245s.

A visually impressive amalgamation of other films like Rocky, 8 Mile, The Warriors, and even Mad Max, The FP immediately grabs your attention with its off-kilter approach, and once it does, you are drawn into this peculiar world almost effortlessly, simultaneously laughing at the strange characters and their strange way of life, but also rooting for the boys from the 248 without even realizing it.

Jason Trost as Jtro has the hardest job as the lead character. He has lost his brother, and so he is a broken man; however, the other characters surrounding him are by contrast dynamic and quirky, energetic and bizarre. They have the ability to mask their own understanding of how silly their film is with their own idiosyncratic performances. Trost, however, remains dour for most of the movie, repeating the most ridiculous of lines while remaining stoic, calm, and disenchanted. The FP depends on his performance to work, and so it does.

Special mention must be made of Art Hsu and his manic performance as KC/DC. He remains energetic from the first minute until the last, serving as MC over all the BBR challenges and badly singing a profane version of the National Anthem (not so much of the United States, but of Frazier Park). He shares one particularly amusing scene where he explains that L-Dubba-E has come into ownership of the FP's sole liquor store, but refuses to sell its booze, forcing people to look to meth to satisfy their addictions. In a teary-eyed monologue, he explains that without booze, there are no bums, and because there are no bums, there is no one to feed the ducks...and so the ducks stop coming to the FP. "And what kinda town ain't got no mothafuckin' ducks?!" he demands through his tears. Hsu is not only the heart of The FP, but the catalyst, as it is he who retrieves Jtro from his lonely life and convinces him to come back and fight for all that the 248 have lost.

Lastly, The FP has perhaps the greatest final shot of all time.

Produced by the folks who brought you Paranormal Activity and Insidious, The FP is brought to you by Drafthouse Films, the infamous Texas-based movie theater who have for years hosted special screenings of films new and old. The FP marks another release by their relatively new distribution banner, and if it's just a taste of things to come, I look enthusiastically forward to their new venture.

The FP begins a limited theatrical release beginning March 16. To see if it's playing in your city, or for more info on the movie, go here.

Grade: A+

MANGA

The Enigma of Amigara Fault

Read.

SOUNDSCAPE: THE DRIVE

I've been into creating sound designs ever since college. Though I'd enrolled in support of studying film, I hadn't ever really considered audio to be its own entity until I took a class on the subject. Suddenly, film wasn't as interesting anymore. It became all about audio. From nothing you could create something. You could tell stories, establish a mood. Sure, you can do this with film, too, but sound is so much more accessible. So long as you have your heart in whatever you're doing, technical know-how goes out the window. All you need is an idea, patience, and the ability to spend hours trolling the internet for the perfect sounds to give life to this idea of yours. Because of this, Adobe Audition has become one of my favorite things, and the Internet has proven an infinite playground for finding the most perfect audio for whatever harebrained project I have in mind. I've assembled all kinds of soundscapes, ranging from projects I embarked on for shits and giggles, to more serious ideas.

This is my first real project. It's something I never intended on sharing, but rather was a "demo" of sorts I was putting together to see what I could accomplish with nothing more than all those things I mentioned earlier: an idea, patience, and late night hours. Credit must go to The Haunted Gallery, whose own work helped me to realize just what kind of projects I've always wanted to create.

First and foremost, all I really wanted to do was create a mood. My original premise was simple: someone goes out for a late night drive in some shitty, rainy, and thunderous weather. The hum of an engine, rain on the car hood, and maybe some relaxing music. That was it. I'm a night owl, caused by periodic insomnia, so I am always on the lookout for something to throw onto my iPod and let lull me into unconsciousness. Sounds of rain, or the ocean, or thunderstorms. Many folks rely on these soundscapes to sleep, and while I wouldn't say I depend on them, they certainly do help. So that's all I had set out to do: create a setting, establish a mood, and hopefully create something to fall asleep to before it ended.

But then a slight hint at a story began creeping in. Being a writer by nature, the need to tell this person's story became overwhelming. This featureless driver became defined - a man, middle aged, with sad, tired eyes. Where was he driving? What was the purpose? When was this taking place?

Suddenly he wasn't just driving leisurely anymore. He had a destination in mind. He had a reason for going where he was going. As I was working on this project, and strictly by happenstance, I stumbled upon an old Bing Crosby radio special that aired one Halloween night years ago. This completely random project fell into place: a man takes a night drive, sometime during the 1930s or 40s, and with the rain and the thunder happening on Halloween night, it would only be appropriate if he ended up at a haunted house.

He arrives, makes himself at home, and just when things begin to get creepy...

...it stops. (Sorry.) The story got away from me, and what I had originally planned as a conclusion became too epic in scope, and was threatening to curtail my original intention: to establish mood using ambiance only. So yes, fair warning: this "story" of mine has no ending. Not that I run the risk of truly upsetting anyone, but I figured I'd warn you, anyway.

I plan on creating more soundscapes in the near future. I have a much more specific idea in mind of what I will be doing, and I'm looking forward to sharing them with you.

For now, here's this.

Full dark listening is recommended. And for the love of Jebus, use headphones.

SHITTY FLICKS: CRIMINALLY INSANE (AKA CRAZY FAT ETHEL)

Shitty Flicks is an ongoing column that celebrates the most hilariously incompetent, amusingly pedestrian, and mind-bogglingly stupid movies ever made by people with a bit of money, some prior porn-directing experience, and no clue whatsoever. It is here you will find unrestrained joy in movies meant to terrify and thrill, but instead poke at your funny bone with their weird, mutant camp-girl penis. 

WARNING: I tend to give away major plot points and twist endings in my reviews because, whatever. Shut up.

Long ago, when Ingmar Bergman was making films actually about something, a filmmaker named Nick Millard (or one of his eight aliases) set out to make a chillingly effective horror film—a film that would raise the bar on how much utter terror audiences could tolerate. Criminally Insane, which for the remainder of this review will be referred to as Crazy Fat Ethel, in keeping with the far superior title chosen for the sequel, was a critical delight and box office smash in the sense that I am a sarcastic prick. Instead, Millard ended up making this first of four truly abhorrent horror movies featuring the very gargantuan Priscilla Alden (star of Birdy as 'Woman on Bench'), who plays a monster named Ethel that eats piles of snacks and occasionally stabs obvious mannequins covered in reddish-orange goo. Yes, there's many reasons why you've never heard of Nick Millard, dear reader. Crazy Fat Ethel is one of them.

All of the "films" Millard made around this time were produced by his mother, Frances Millard, who subsequently began a career as a porn actress at the ripe age of 85 years old. Titles of her films include 92 and Still Bangin', Granny Takes a Tinkle, and Hey, My Grandma is a Whore, which is one of the most nonplussed observations one could make this side of "huh, looks like rain." (None of those are jokes—at least, none that I've made.)

One year for Halloween, Ethel trick-or-treated as "hideous."

At the start of the movie, we meet our fatagonist (LMAO), Ethel Janowski. Her time spent at the Nappa Valley Mental Institute, where according to fuzzy flashbacks she was forced to have electroshock therapy while unnecessarily revealing the most horrid of sexual extremities, is now over. After the audience suffers through said flashback, in which her shock-therapy session plays out in real time in order to pad out the length of this movie (a whopping 61 minutes), Grandma Janowski checks Ethel out of the hospital and brings her home to San Francisco, land of the trolley car, TV's the Tanner family, and "the gays."

Once home, Grandma tries to put Ethel on a diet, because the sheer girth of her rotund belly enrages whole planets. Ethel glares at her grandmother, somehow gaining weight as she stands in place. Instead of agreeing to these terms, she demands a snack. Grandma says no, explaining to her that excess food could prove detrimental to her heart.

“My heart is just fine, so long as my stomach’s not empty,” Ethel gurgles scientifically, citing from her favorite book, I'm Fat, You're Fat: Let's All Eat Dinner Again.

Ethel's mind eventually takes a shit over her inability to fill her mouth with popcorn and cow meat, and so she stabs Grandma for locking up the refrigerator. Grandma dies clenching the only key in her old, old hand, as Ethel repeatedly stabs her and screams, "I want that key!"

The Ethel we had all previously known and loved is gone. Meet the new Ethel: just as hideous...just as fat...but twice as crazy.

With a whore and a fat-ass psychopath for her granddaughters,
Granny stops to reflect on if she's made the wrong choices in life.

Ethel, looking to stuff her person with cheese cubes and bacon bits, dials up a local grocer to place an order for delivery. She fidgets on the phone, impatiently agreeing to pay off Grandma’s previous debt, as she doubles the amount of ice cream. Ethel grins, dreaming of all the drippy food that will soon be covering her moomoo, but she runs into a problem when the delivery boy refuses to accept $4.50 to pay an $80 bill. Ethel, a good problem solver, stabs the boy a billion times with a broken bottle.

At this point, Ethel's sister, Rosalee, a divine little minx who fucks for money, assaults herself into the plot, her first appearance consisting of ringing the doorbell over and over until you want the whole world to explode. Ethel finally lets her in after having dragged the delivery boy's body upstairs and into Grandma’s room.

Rosalee barely asks, “What’s all this blood all over the floor?”

Ethel farts, “I cut my foot on some glass.”

To see how much blood is on the floor, and to see Ethel’s pudgy, uncut foot, would draw suspicion from even an infant with a candy-filled brain, but no worries here. Rosalee merely walks past her sister and explains she’ll be staying there for a while and occasionally renting out her vagina to the lowest bidder. You see, ♫ it's not unusual♫ for Rosalee to bring home a strange and ugly man to wrap around, but sometimes that's just John, her pimp/boyfriend. But in keeping with her profession, Rosalee will also bring home "johns," on whom she will perform sexual favors in exchange for some financial compensation or some "nasal medicine." What's deeply frustrating about Rosalee's lack of attractiveness is that her johns also grew off the branches of the ugly tree, so viewers can't even get temporarily lost in some attractive sex. Everyone is hideous.

Sure, Rosalee brought home the big bucks... but at what cost?

It's not long before a cop comes sniffing around, trying to solve the case of the missing food delivery kid who recently made a food delivery to a place where a very fat, food-loving woman, fresh from the mental institution, has taken up residence. The cop fires off question after question, demanding to know the boy's possible whereabouts, but Ethel, master deflector, throws off the cop's scent in all the most diabolical ways:

“He went left.”

The cop, totally okay with this answer, deduces that the boy must have “gone to Tijuana” with the money and leaves, failing at life like everyone having to do creatively with this movie.

It's right around this point where we finally meet John, Rosalee’s horse jockey/lover/abuser. He shows up at her favorite watering hole to insist they continue their relationship of love and domestic violence. For every second he is onscreen, he appears to be on at least five '70s-bred hallucinogenics.

Despite Rosalee telling him to bugger off, he follows her back to the house, where she continues her cold shoulder technique of avoiding his kisses, even though she has ended up naked on a bed with him on top of her (following an amusing fade-to). John proclaims his love, and Rosalee asks, “If you love me so much, why do you beat the shit out of me?”

John retorts, “You need a good beating every once in a while. All women do. Especially you.”

She then welcomes him into her equestrian vagina, I guess deciding he has made a good point.

John had gotten his promotion, found $5 in the street,
and was about to complete the trifecta.

John meets Ethel the next morning at breakfast after she walks in holding a plate piled high with Hot Pockets. He looks genuinely taken aback and lets out a bemused “Jesus…” in what comes off as the most honest bit of acting in this train wreck. But Rosalee orders him to be nice, and John agrees, asking for one of Ethel’s treats. She hesitantly hands him one and is about to sob over the loss of her food when that pesky cop returns to gather further information about the missing delivery kid. Having found out that the boy was apparently a pillar of the youth community, he is no longer satisfied by his own Tijuana theory. He again questions Ethel, and again she shows off her bravura for master manipulation:

"I saw someone with a gun follow him," she says dumbly, staring at the floor.

"Why didn’t you tell me this before?" the cop inquires, suspicious.

"I forgot," she booms in response. And for good measure: "The robber was black."

A black robber in San Francisco is enough for the cop to leave Ethel alone for the moment. She relievedly pats herself on the stomach for a job well done, leaves to “go watch Gunsmoke,” and probably celebrates her cunning with a wheel barrel of hot dogs.

And the movie continues, whether we like it or not.

"Hey, Ethel...Are you gonna pass the jam or what?"

Ethel eludes Rosalee's curiosity as to where Granny is, why her room is always locked, and why it smells like death. “Grandma must’ve shit all over the bed before she left,” she deduces.

Hideous John threatens to break down Granny's bedroom door, but Ethel uses her noodle and brilliantly suggests, "Do it tomorrow." John agrees and takes Rosalee back to their bed, where he consents to bestiality.

Rosalee’s mounting suspicions eventually catch Ethel's lard-ass attention, but the potential conflict is soon alleviated when Ethel kills her with a large plastic cleaver—the special kind that makes a dull wood-on-wood sound when striking anything at all.

As we watch in boring anticipation, Ethel sneaks into John and Rosalee's bedroom and raises the mighty cleaver with her meaty arm. She brings it down across John's head, and though its pretty much obscured by some cleverly awful editing, his face explodes into a thick layer of red wall paint. Rosalee manages to sleep through the hundreds of swings Ethel applies to John's head, as depicted by the past-faced cutting. She finally wakes up and neighs to Ethel for mercy. Ethel says something fat and then kills Rosalee, setting in stone her future as horse glue.

Spoiler.

Phew... we can all breathe a sigh of relief. Ethel's Crisco-fueled crimes of passion have saved her tremendous ass for the time being. She continues to kill mannequins that we're supposed to accept are people, eats, and has a dream she is wearing a nice robe and running by the bay. Once waking from her nap, she gets up, eats a lot more, and kills a little more. Much fun can be had witnessing Ethel attempt to hide her ever-growing amount of bodies in Granny's room, all the while spraying air-freshener directly on their dead faces.

After realizing Granny's bedroom is rapidly filling up with bodies, Ethel loads them into a car trunk and drives out to a sea-side cliff in hopes of dumping them into the water. She takes her sweet fat-ass time performing this task, and we have no choice but to watch the entire trip unfold in real time, because we're watching this movie for some reason.

Upon getting there, Ethel sees that there are far too many witnesses for her to get away with dumping bodies into the bay, so she gets back in the car and drives all the way home, leaving the trunk lid hanging wide open because she's a fucking dickhead. And we get to watch all of this return trip, too, because this movie seriously has more padding than Mickey Rourke's newest face.

Once home, Ethel smashes up the stairs, eager to eat something covered in heavy cream. Nosy Neighbor, who catches a whiff of something fierce, wanders over to the trunk Ethel has ingeniously left hanging open and sees a mannequin hand douched with blood.

That pesky cop shows up again and randomly enters Ethel's house. If he has done so because he was alerted to the hand in the trunk, it’s definitely not evident, for he walks slowly up the steps without any alarm, and without taking out his gun. He opens the door to Granny's room and sees Ethel EATING the dead bodies that have accumulated because her belly can hold a lot.

The end.

(To be followed by three sequels).

"Cake cake cake," Ethel happily sang, moments before her heart attack.

What I Learned from Crazy Fat Ethel:

• Ethel is larger than your average bear.
• Saying derogatory things like "that Jew doctor" is a-okay so long as your dinner is your hand and an entire jar of peanut butter.
• Blood can be faked with the most unrealistic of substances.
• Nick Millard became a filmmaker upon realizing he had access to free mannequins.
• A 61-minute movie can feel like an eternity if you know how to craft something awful.
• Nick Millard is not affiliated with a single attractive person.
• The desire to eat normal food and then commit murders naturally leads to cannibalism. (Further, dead human bodies are made of chocolate.)
• Nick Millard's prior history of shooting pornography is unsurprisingly prevalent. However, this time, the ridiculous and tedious set-pieces that would normally lead to hardcore sex are just the actual movie.
• Ethel likes to eat 'Nilla Wafers, pudding, iced cream, eggs, people, milk, pancakes, more pudding, and your time.