H(ART)

Check out more stuff by OkioBDesigns on Etsy.

HOLY SHIT!

MOURN

HEY, KNOW WHAT'S A REAL MOVIE?

REVIEW: CARL PANZRAM: THE SPIRIT OF HATRED AND VENGEANCE

In this older post, I discussed the memoirs of a man named Carl Panzram. For those not familiar, he was a sociopathic killer from the early 1900s who spent most of his life either in reformatories or prisons. His non-institutional exploits took him all over the world, and he claimed responsibility for over twenty murders, as well as robberies, rapes, assaults, arsons, and over one thousand acts of male sodomy. While incarcerated, he began writing down his life story, including every (or nearly every) crime he ever committed. What resulted from those was an extremely valuable and insightful memoir, which should be required reading for students of true crime, psychology, and sociology; it’s the most openly intimate account of a killer's life in existence. And not only does Panzram spare no details of his crimes, he laments the fact that he is a product of society, and of an abusive and dismissive upbringing. Within the pages of his memoirs, he is telling you, me, and society itself, how to avoid bringing about another Carl Panzram. It’s one of the reasons it remains a dark but celebrated piece of material, even as it nears 100 years old. To read the book yourself is to know that Panzram isn’t trying to pass the buck, and he’s not trying to gain your sympathy. Because simply put: Fuck you. He’d kill you if you were in front of him, because he knows that if you were reared in the same society as him, you’re not worth a damn. Panzram never declined responsibility for his crimes, and he, by his own admission, never had a desire to reform himself. All he really wanted was to teach society a lesson – one they’d never forget.

His most famous quote remains:

In my lifetime I have murdered 21 human beings, I have committed thousands of burglaries, robberies, larcenies, arsons and, last but not least, I have committed sodomy on more than 1,000 male human beings. For all these things I am not in the least bit sorry.

Enter documentarian/filmmaker John Borowski. Previously responsible for documentaries on other early 20th century serial killers H.H. Holmes and Albert Fish, Carl Panzram: The Spirit of Hatred and Vengeance explores the titular killer utilizing interviews with those who have studied the man, his crimes, and even one particular man who knew him perhaps the best of anyone: Henry Lesser.

Lesser, at the time, was a young and idealistic prison guard in a Washington, DC prison where Panzram was remanded at that time. He was also the catalyst for what can be described as Panzram’s reputation as a cult figure. It was at Lesser’s urging that Panzram put pencil to paper (sneakily passed to Panzram’s cell in small increments, as such materials were considered contraband) to tell his life story. The few pages at a time Panzram wrote were soon assembled into a manuscript that would then take forty years to see publication, as most publishers simply did not want to be associated with the material.

Lesser, in an archival interview from the 1980s performed by San Diego State University, is one of the several experts to contribute to Borowski’s documentary. Additionally, the documentary utilizes Panzram’s original handwritten documents, which Lesser had kept in his possession for years before donating them to San Diego State University, as well as prison photographs, a handful of items used in Panzram’s execution, and modern-day footage of the places where Panzram lived, murdered, and died.

A five year odyssey that began as far back as 2007 has resulted in a fantastic and comprehensive documentary on one of the most hardened men who may have ever lived. Borowski crams as much essential information into this documentary as possible, and it never fails to be interesting. His assembly of interviewees with different backgrounds and pedigrees bring a wide range of perspectives and insights on a man whom I can only assume never dreamed he would still be a topic of conversation more than eighty years after his death.

In what may be the wisest decision made on the part of the documentary, Borowski obtained the participation of John Di Maggio, who has worked as a voice actor for the last 25 years (most famously voicing Bender in "Futurama" and a few other robots in the newer Transformers projects).  His incredibly raspy, Lance-Henriksen-sounding voice brings the perfect timbre to Panzram’s memoirs. His words come to life, and when recited with unrestrained anger, make them much more powerful.

Speaking of Panzram's words, the choice to forgo using a more traditional narrator was vetoed in favor of using text lifted directly from Panzram's memoir, retaining that first-person perspective. Because of this, his presence is consistently felt from the first minute until the last. Using Di Maggio’s voice over, Borowski weaves a tapestry of photographs, interviews, and reenactments to construct a truncated version of Pangram’s life story. The more significant and even anecdotal bits of Panzram’s past (he once robbed William Howard Taft!) are included here, as are the more vicious excerpts from Panzram’s memoirs.

Borowski is also objective enough to allow his interviewees to contradict each other: One interviewee emphatically states that a child raised in a loving and nurturing home would grow up to be a loving and nurturing adult (which he prefixes with “fact”) – ergo, Panzram's claims of the abuse he suffered at the hands of his father and other siblings leading him to his murderous life are valid – while another interviewee claims that it wasn’t this abuse, but any number of reasons including possible brain damage, or simply being born that way, that caused Panzram to commit the crimes he did, even stating that Panzram's other siblings all growing up to become productive members of society. Further, this same interviewee alleges perhaps the most interesting question raised in the documentary: Did Carl Panzram really commit every crime to which he laid claim? Did he really burn down juvenile detention centers where he was remanded, or kill over twenty people, or commit 1,000 acts of sodomy? Did he really smash in the heads of children with rocks, or kill men and feed their carcases to alligators? She asserts that contradictions arise from his writing, and Panzram’s own delusions of grandeur are clear signs he is building himself up into something more murderous and virtueless than he actually was. This claim is based on the idea that a serial killer’s main thrill is to feel powerful—so what better way to feel powerful then by tacking on dozens of murders and hundreds of crimes, knowing that his history of using aliases when being arrested would make his past near-impossible to trace?

One thing is definitely for certain: His last will and testament really did bequeath his "carcass" to a dog catcher in Minnesota – to provide meat for the dogs – as well as a curse to all of mankind.

My only real point of contention with the documentary is the use of reenactments. To me they seemed erroneous, and at times even distracting. For a few sequences, the on-screen reenactment actor playing Panzram would exchange dialogue with another “character,” over which Di Maggio’s voice work would be dubbed. In a few instances, this works just fine, but in others, it doesn’t. Other scenes reenacted come across as rather hammy, including a quick silhouette shot of one of the many acts of sodomy to which Panzram alleged. These reenactments are akin to something you would see on the History Channel (maybe not the sodomy), and in some cases aren't even quite as effective.

But calling out the inclusion of these reenactments feels like sour grapes, as they’re a cosmetic complaint at best; the documentary presents a lot of valuable information and brings new insights to this fascinating man and is barely hampered by these narrative scenes.

If you're intrigued by this dark individual – if you’ve read the book and even seen the movie – I don’t think I have to tell you that this documentary is essential viewing.

Copies of Carl Panzram: The Spirit of Hatred and Vengeance are available only through John Borowski’s website, and the first one thousand units sold will be limited editions featuring the filmmaker’s autograph as well as postcards of Panzram’s mug shot and signature.

BECOME WRATH

"I don't think you're quitting because you believe these things you say. I don't. I think you want to believe them, because you're quitting. And you want me to agree with you, and you want me to say, "Yeah, yeah, yeah. You're right. It's all fucked up. It's a fucking mess. We should all go live in a fucking log cabin." But I won't. I don't agree with you. I do not. I can't."

If we don't, remember me.

CANDIDNESS

"This world would be a damned fine place if man were off it."

TEOS RECOMMENDS: KILLING THEM SOFTLY

Did you see Killing Them Softly this weekend?

Based on the box office reports, you didn't. Nor do you know anyone who did.

You really should, though – so long as you know what you're in for.

Something I find myself saying more and more in my reviews/examinations of films is, “This film is not for everyone.” I suppose that could be said about every film, really. More and more people say The Godfather is the greatest film of all time, but that doesn’t mean everyone out there likes it – hence, The Godfather is not for everyone.

But it really, really applies when I say that Killing Them Softy (based on the book Cogan's Trade by George V. Higgins) is not for everyone. What is being sold as an action/thriller with Brad Pitt as a leather-jacket-clad hit-man is really not that at all. What the film most certainly is…is angry.

To sum up, two low-level hoods knock off a card game overseen by Markie (Ray Liotta). Jackie Cogan (Brad Pitt) is brought in to knock off the two hoods as well as the mastermind behind the scheme.

Does this actually happen? I can’t really say, but that’s not the point. What, on the surface, looks like a gritty revenge suspenseful-thriller is actually a very angry film about the economy, and the government’s handling of the bail out, and how, basically, those at the top responsible for his whole mess walked away from the affair unscathed. Some reviews have labeled the film as anti-Obama, and while I can see how that thought might be raised, I would disagree. I suppose the film would have to be anti-Obama in some unavoidable respects, being as how he is a part of the political machine, and he was one of those who signed-off on the bail out. But really, the film is anti-government. It’s anti-bullshit. And it’s very much anti-pretending that we’re all one community of people who care for each other, because our society proves again and again that we’re not. In the aftermath of Hurricanes Katrina and Sandy, and much earlier, 9/11, yes, our community got together and saved lives and helped people and even dug out rubble. We donated money and goods and we all felt really good about ourselves. But the things that divide us on a daily basis – politics, religion, incomes – crept back up to make us remember why it is we simply can’t get along with others.

Really what you have in Killing Them Softy is a message that’s simple: If somebody steals your money, you fucking kill them. Forget about due process, because something as massive and deludedly infallible as the government has proven it doesn’t have the honor and sack it takes to fix the problem. This is eye for an eye revisited.

Killing Them Softly comes from Andrew Dominik, screenwriter/director of The Assassination of Jesse James by the Coward Robert Ford (also starring Brad Pitt) – another film from Dominik’s body of work that I absolutely adore, which is another of his films that did not find the kind of success or attention it deserved. Dominik took the story of one of America’s most beloved outlaws, removed all the glamour and gimmick and godliness that’s been attached to him over the years, and instead presented you with a broken-down man, surrounded by family and friends, but ultimately alone. His life of crime left him constantly wanted by the law and constantly on the run, and he was left in a place where there wasn’t a single soul he could trust.

Killing Them Softly is incredibly well-acted, with James Gandolfini’s aging hit-man, Mickey, having all the best lines, while Scoot McNairy (of the incredible Monsters) gets to be a part of the most effective and suspenseful scenes in the film, including the robbery that starts this whole mess.

Don't expect non-stop violence (though the film is violent) and action set-pieces. What you can expect is a lot of anger towards our leaders and towards our society. What you can expect is a reflection on life – our own specific lives, as well as the one we share as a community. And you can expect to leave the theater with a wry smile on your face, knowing that it took a bunch of Boston hoods and hit-men to be more openly honest about what is they want, what they’re willing to do to get it, and to what means those affected will resort in order to get it all back—and that’s more than you can say for those allegedly looking out for the American people.

Plus, it's actually pretty funny.

BUY ME THIS: SKULL SHOT GLASS

Your booze of choice forms the shape of the skull. How do you not want this?

You there, reader - I'll take a set.

SHITTY FLICKS: INVASION OF THE BLOOD FARMERS

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.

Invasion of the Blood Farmers opens with a fascinating monologue about demons that roamed around the country thousands of years ago. Oh, and something about blood sacrifices. And the screen is red, so you know the narrator means business.

We immediately cut to terror. A bloodied man stumbles down a country road. You can tell he’s in pain because he shrieks.

Not too far down the road sits a bar full of good-old-boys, cracking jokes about people we don’t know as we are inundated with odd close-ups of the patrons, badly angled and distractingly timed. The bartender asks a man if his wife has turned up yet (see, cuz she’s missing), but the very unworried husband waves away the bartender’s concern. Then someone else asks where Jim Carrey has been. For serious.

Before anyone can answer, the bloodied-shirt man (Jim Carrey!) stumbles into the bar, wagging his tongue around (just like the Jim Carrey we love!) before collapsing into a weird heap. The good-old-boys, not knowing what to do, make appropriate “yucky!” faces.

We then meet two new characters lying next to a river (which we hear, but never see). They are Don and Jenny. Their awkward '70s fashions are no match for their atrocious dialogue.

"Let me put it in your stinker once, Jenny. Don't be so greedy."

“There are some things you can’t learn in a school!” says Jenny, as Don defends his decision to attend pathology school, which I guess severely hinders their relationship. Don also states how brilliant of a pathologist Jenny’s father is and why he wants to work with him. Jenny asks about marriage, the suffocating bint that she is. Don responds by groping her highly-socked leg as generic library music fills the scene. Then they awkwardly bend to kiss...

...But no time for that, as we meet yet another lovely couple! Victim Girl and Blood Farmer # 1. Blood Farmer # 1 has inserted a tube into Victim Girl and is draining the blood from her body. And we can tell because of the sucking noises provided by the wonderful sound design. Blood Farmer is also inexplicably wearing a black Klansmen hood, its pointy cone shape a marvel of bigoted beauty. Who knows why, really, but it doesn’t matter. He’s sucking blood from a girl using a cow-milking machine. Is it really worse if he hates black people?

Jenny and Don momentarily race before falling to the ground, with Don awkwardly attempting to show intimacy with Jenny as he literally rubs her denim dress-covered stomach. Don then somberly talks of Jim Carrey, who invaded the bar, disgusted a bunch of drunks, and then fell on his face, without ever singing amusingly out of his asshole. Not once, but twice we are greeted with quick cuts to Jim Carrey laying face down on the floor as Don talks of finding him and how it has affected his life. A strangely utilized frying bacon sound is used to complement each cut back to Jim Carrey for unknown reasons.

It’s at this point that we meet the greatest man in the whole world: Dr. Roy Anderson, played with a currently unmatched amount of enthusiasm by the great Norman Kelley, a theater actor who over-annunciates and shouts every line he has in the film. “Where have you two been?!” he explodes. “Never mind! Come to the lab! Yoooooou won’t believe what’s HAPPENING!” Despite this invitation being directed to both Jenny and Don, only the latter follows, which is fine with me, because the less characters in a scene means the more opportunities for Dr. Roy Anderson to talk dynamically about scientific things, really excited to be in a feature film!

Dr. Anderson shows Don the samples of blood that were taken from Jim Carrey. Don is astonished to see that the amount of blood has increased by itself, now taking up half a beaker. Why, this blood was expanding all by itself!

"OK, let's go over the rules again: $30 for chugging,
$20 for gargling, and $10 for just lapping some from my palm."

Dr. Anderson takes his time, severely concentrating on reciting long, scientific diatribes, ignoring his flubs and continuing on. “This will either be a major milestone in pathology or a major blow to mankind! Let’s work all night until we nail this thing DOWN!”

Meanwhile, a local boob, Tex, fruitlessly attempts to clean up Jim Carrey’s blood from the bar floor, but since this is the same blood that keeps multiplying, he’s fucked. As he recites his lines, something about the blood and the present odd circumstances within the town being “demons’ work,” we reach a point in which the actor must not have been saying his lines loud enough, and a much-louder voice-over is layered directly over-top the old dialogue. As Tex babbles on, some strange farming men at the bar glare at him, since all the “strange things going on in this town” could very well clue townsfolk in on what’s actually going on: the sucking of people by these two wicker-hatted dudes.

After monitoring the conversation regarding Dr. Roy Anderson and his location on Willowbrook Road, one of the strange men, Egon, asks the bartender how to find this road. He claims to have “pressing business” with one of the residents.

“Are you guys tailors?” shouts an off-screen patron in response, which is greeted with laughter.

Upon receiving the directions, Egon responds with, “Your directions have been most…satisfactory,” and he and his sucking partner, Sontag, leave the bar.

Egon journeys on his gimpy leg to find Roy Anderson’s property and does, indeed, locate the residence. However, Egon then accidentally bumps into the window because he is a moronic demon alien, or something, and flees, having blown his stupid alien demon cover.

Buster, a white puffball of a dog, chases after Egon, who is promptly beaten to death with his Egon's demon alien cane. Jenny comes rushing out, looking for Buster, but sees only Don instead. She makes some offhanded comment about him being overdue, to which Don replies, “Well, you’re way overdue…for bed!” The fact that it's mid-afternoon is lost on our characters, but not anyone watching this film.

Don then leans into the camera, in shoddy close-up, lips parted, for a hot kiss. Jenny responds in kind, also leaning into the camera for this hot kiss, but then the camera cuts and we’re suddenly in bloody Egon’s mouth as he is eating the dog!

Wwatch out for Mr. Film School over here!

Don takes a brief trip through the woods to try to locate the dog, but instead finds a random key dropped by Egon earlier in the day. Don decides an old key is a good substitute for the dog and goes back to the house.

Later, we meet a newly married couple, honeymooning in the most romantic spot in the country: a seedy motel in Blood Suck Town. Man says “I’m gonna shower and then we can watch "'The Late Show.'”

His wife replies, “We’re married, now! We don’t watch 'The Late Show' anymore!”

Before you can figure out what the fuck that's supposed to mean, Man is killed in the shower by Egon as his wife lies on the bed and shakes, either from an off-screen attack or a vibrating mattress. And I'm serious when I say that. I really can't tell if she was just hit on the head and perhaps is experiencing a seizure, or if she just dropped two bits in the vibrating bed coin slot.

"Howdy, pardner. Room in this shower for two?"

The next morning, Dr. Roy Anderson sits at the table, patiently awaiting his daughter, Jenny, to fix his coffee, since he’s so fucking old and scientific that he can’t do it himself. Jenny forlornly pours the coffee, distressed by the absence of her dog. “Buster never misses breakfast!” she sadly exclaims.

Dr. Roy Anderson responds, “Don’t worry, when he gets hungry, he’ll come home…just like my students!” Thankfully there isn't much time to let sink in the fact that this line doesn't make a bit of sense, because Don stops by for breakfast, telling Jenny that they’ll go out later together looking for Buster. This warms her heart, and she offers to make him eggs.

“Scrambled, like you!” Don lovingly says. A nice sweet moment is shared. Everyone smiles at each other, really reveling in the warmness of the world and anxiously awaiting all the pleasures of the coming tomorrow.

And then Egon hangs the dead, mutilated dog outside the front door, rings the bell, and slowly drags his gimp body through some bushes, because he’s a gigantic dickhead. Jenny sees the dog's body, probably shoves her fist in her mouth and screams, and probably falls.

Dr. Anderson and Don examine the dog’s blood and find that it, too, is capable of the strange, replicating effect. 

“I’m afraid we’re dealing with forces we know nothing about!” exclaims Dr. Anderson, the top of his head the only part of him on camera. Don walks away, not responding to this as the camera awkwardly pans down on Dr. Anderson staring off, shocked, into space. Then the camera unsmoothly pans down to reveal the beaker now brimming with blood.

Jenny lies in bed, upset about Buster’s recent blood-draining and hanging. 

Don is also dismayed. “Why would someone try to SCARE us like this?”

Dr. Anderson’s booming, omnipresent voice fills the room. “Don! Come quick! YOOOOOOOOU won’t believe what is HAAAAAAPPENING!!” 

Don rushes to the basement lab to see Dr. Anderson trying to contain the blood now gushing from the several containers holding it and pouring all over the floor.

Oh no! What will they do!

No matter, because we then cut and finally meet Creton, the reason for all this bullshittery.

Rising with the morning sun, bathing in the warm springs,
and sucking a few bodies of their blood.
Creton relished it, and it was his.

Easily mistakable for a grey-haired version of Hyde from "That 70’s Show," Creton babbles bullshit over a dead woman’s body in a glass coffin as a boring suited man, Dr. Woodrow Kinski, looks on. The two off-handedly discuss the point behind the harvesting of blood (to awake their Demon Queen from her glass cofifin), even though at this point, everyone involved should pretty much know the game plan.

Back with our tepid heroes, Don shows Dr. Anderson the strange key he found in the woods while looking for Buster. Dr. Anderson, not recognizing the metal because he is brilliant, attempts to phone Dr. Kinski(!) at the institution, ignorant of the fact that he is not of this earth, or at the very least a non-human man.

Meanwhile, a random man we have never seen before sits behind his desk in an office, staring at the floor and literally waiting for the phone to ring in order to begin his scene, while simultaneously putting his faith in the director to cut out all that footage of non action.

Oops.

The phone does ring, and it’s Dr. Anderson, looking for Dr. Kinski, of course. Though Dr. Kinski has been holed-up somewhere doing research for the past month and left orders not to be disturbed, the man gives Dr. Anderson his phone number anyway, because why not?

Dr. Anderson ploddingly dials each number, (only 6 digits in all, which may have been appropriate for the time period, but as I don’t know any better, I will laugh anyway because it’s all the more to appreciate about this hammy movie) and then stares up at Don and smiles, looking as if he is about to ask someone out to a Sock Hop. The good doctors connect and make plans to meet up later to exchange the newly-found key for some tests.

"I just want to LOVE again!"

Dr. Kinski reports back to Creton immediately and thus takes part in a scene that lasts literally five minutes, but which only establishes Kinski has found the location of the key and that he’ll eventually steal it. Meanwhile, the woman attempting to play the dead queen in the coffin shuffles and jimmy-legs at her own disposal.

We then quickly check in with the deputy of the town, as he once again states that the chief is on vacation, and thus cannot solve the case of the missing people, because God forbid he should do any actual work. However, the vacationing chief decides to call the bar from a rainy area (see, because he’s in a different place) and verbally berate his deputy for letting the town fall victim to blood farmers, all the while magically knowing he could find his deputy at the bar.

Despite the fact that the deputy says absolutely nothing in reference to the Chief’s anger, nor even verbally acknowledges that the person on the other end of the line is the chief, a disembodied voice from the other end of the bar still decides to yell, “Give ‘em hell, Shorty!”

The random blood ritual has begun, with each black-hooded blood farmer drinking from the ceremonial bowl and then kissing the ceremonial dead girl.

We cut back to Dr. Anderson, the phone to his ear, waiting for his scene to begin. It takes roughly three Mississippi seconds. He’s talking to the Chief, and after a weird, unintentional throw-back of his head, the camera whirls momentarily within the woods to symbolize the passing of time, and the Chief appears at the doorway, already shaking Dr. Anderson’s hand. Dr. Anderson and the Chief settle down on the cozy couch as he lays down the entire dirty business of the growing blood and other goings-on of the past few days.

"Well I ain't never kissed a man, Bill, but you
do rub me the right way. Let's go for it."

With the courtesy of another quick cut, Dr. Anderson and the chief are now on their feet, with the chief agreeing to check out the Whittaker farm house, home to some of those blood farmers about which the town has frequently gossiped. How Dr. Roy Anderson knew this was the location of the bullshit is anyone's guess.

Chief meets Dr. Kinski at the house, who claims that the Whittakers have agreed to lend their abode to him while they vacationed in California. Dr. Kinski explains what’s going on, doing his best to keep up with overly-complicated scientific sounding jargon, yet clearly fucking up several of his lines.

Meanwhile, Dr. Anderson excitedly explains to Don a concoction he has whipped up to thwart the ever-expanding blood. As Don examines microscopic samples, the phone rings. Anderson grabs it, holds it to his ear and stares directly into the camera, knowing this is where they have agreed to cut. It's the chief, and the two gab for a bit before Dr. Anderson hangs up and looks confused. Dr. Anderson then dials Dr. Kinski, and Egon, who despite not having the patience to speak human English, answers the ringing phone, anyway. Egon mutters an angry demon curse and fires sparks into the phone with his hands. 

Dr. Anderson’s cry of “whaaa-a-a-at?!” mixed with his look of overstated befuddlement is priceless. “Look, I want to spo—SPEAK, to…DR. KINSKI!” he manages.

“There is no Kinski here!” replies Egon.

“Is this 4…6...2 - 7…8…3…?” Dr. Anderson stumbles.

Kinski quickly gets on the phone and makes up some shit about working on atomic bombardment “and you know how that can make some people feel.” Kinski, before hanging up the phone, says that his work is going well. 

Don inquires, “what did he say?” 

Anderson replies, confusedly, “he says his work goes…well!” as if it’s an outlandish concept. What the fuck, Dr. Anderson, you asked him.

The chief then receives a call from a missing girl’s father who grows impatient with the slow work of the police department. And right here is where I’d tell you how the chief handled the call if the scene didn’t cut him off mid-sentence and propel the audience suddenly to the woods.

Dr. Kinski drops by Dr. Anderson’s and the two make polite chatter. Dr. Kinski asks for a Bloody Mary and Dr. Anderson does not conceal his over-the-top confusion at his request, considering he offered him a drink in the first place. 

And then we cut outside to Dr. Anderson and Don talking about random life things. Where did Dr. Kinski go? Who knows! I sure don’t!

Dr. Anderson and Jenny are kidnapped by the cult and taken to the mountains where the final whatever will take place.

"I can dance CIRCLES around you, old man.
Any time, ANY PLACE!"

Luckily Don shows up with the antidote, but for some reason never even thinks to use it until Dr. Anderson tells him to. Don attacks the main dead girl with it, which melts her almost instantly, along with the rest of the cult.

Wow, that ended fast!

The three of them retire back to their peaceful home, where Don makes wedding plans with Jenny, regardless of the fact that she can’t even stand from her ordeal.

“Don, come quick!” Dr. Anderson suddenly cries. “YOOOOOOU WON’T BELIEVE WHAT’S HAPPENING!”

Oh no, what now!

But don’t worry, it’s a new puppy, which Dr. Anderson holds up while smiling devilishly. The movie literally ends with Dr. Anderson laughing into the camera, raising his eyebrows as if to say, “eh?? Eh????”

And thus ends the greatest movie you never saw.

HEY, KNOW WHAT'S A REAL MOVIE?

REVIEW: ABOLITION

The idea of the anti-Christ has been a huge part of the genre, at the very least, since the Christian timeline. Obviously I don’t just mean mass media, but in culture itself. This idea that the son of the devil is out there, or will be out there, and will bring about the end of times, has always been a powerful presence in the Catholic faith. It has extended itself to classics like Rosemary’s Baby, and more directly, The Omen. It would seem that Abolition is the next step.

Playing out more like a sequel to The Omen, Abolition (meaning “the end”) is about a lowly anti-Christ named Joshua (Andrew Roth). He is not outwardly evil, nor is he purposely amassing followers to bring about the apocalypse. No, it turns out the anti-Christ is a lowly and dour maintenance man, born of what I suppose should be called demaculate conception. After the building in which he works and lives is condemned, he finds himself living on the street amongst those others who were displaced. He begins to amass followers without even trying, and flipside shades to biblical stories are presented; there isn’t just the aforementioned scene of virgin conception, but the story of Jesus breaking five loaves of bread to feed thousands of people is also re-interpreted as Joshua begins to hand out sliced bread to the indigents surrounding him. There’s nothing miraculous to be seen here—instead, the indigents begin to claw at each other like animals, desperate to satisfy the hunger in their stomachs. The scene soon grows so violent that Joshua ends up fleeing.

After a near-deadly altercation with a street hood, Joshua collapses on the steps of a church, where he is found and cared for by Matthew (Reggie Bannister, in an atypical role). As the two become more acquainted, Joshua explains that he used to be the maintenance man at another building, so Matthew invites him to oversee maintenance in the apartment building that he owns. One of this building’s inhabitants, Mia (Elisa Dowling), is presented as a conflicted but potential love interest for Joshua after he saves her from a rape attempt. Filling out the cast is Caroline Williams as Joshua’s mother, aka the woman in the opening of the film who goes to bed, has a bunch of nightmares, and wakes up preggers. Seeing as how she’s the mother of the anti-Christ, she’s got a few…problems.

Much like anything having to do with religion, shit eventually hits the fan.

There is a good idea somewhere in Abolition. I like the idea of the anti-Christ not really being that bad of a dude. I like that he’s conflicted and depressed, not because he knows what he is, but because that’s just his personality. I like that he’s not painted to be a generic villain, but that instead great attempts were made to actually make viewers feel…sympathy for the devil? (So, so sorry.) The problem is the film just doesn’t do enough with this concept, and so much of the running time is spent meandering along that when things start to get interesting, we’re only ten minutes away from closing credits.

Andrew Roth as Joshua gives a performance that, after a while, becomes exhausting. Viewers can only spend so much time with a broken-down character before it starts to take its toll. At least that’s the case for me. Roth is competent enough and carries all the scenes he’s in, but after a while, it somehow manages to feel like way too much as well as not enough.

As previously mentioned, Reggie Bannister gives a good performance as Matthew, which is propelled by the decidedly more serious tone of the film. While Reggie will always be best known for the Phantasm series as the guitar-plucking, 4-barrel-shotgun-wielding, skirt-chasing ice-cream man, his career has mainly extended primarily to bit parts in direct-to-video garbage. While nice to see him in something more grounded, it’s a shame the film itself wasn’t better.

Abolition unfolds at a pace that will seem downright punishing to even the most patient of viewers. I can’t say the film was ever boring, but you spend so much time waiting for the big pay off that when it comes, you’re nearly furious that you’re not given more to go with.

I will always give credit to filmmakers who wish to tell a story with less flash and gimmick. It’s evident here that co-writer/director Mike Klassen believes in his story, enough that he’s confident his particular pacing is worth the journey. I’m not sure I’d agree with the method.

Like that age-old belief, "How do you know that homeless man asking you for food isn’t Christ himself?,"  Abolition asks, "How do you know that lowly maintenance man you disregard on a daily basis isn’t going to bring about the end of everything?"

Unfortunately, in this case, you'll find it hard to care.

COMPANY

"Do you ever find yourself talking with the dead? Since [my son] Willie's death, I catch myself every day, involuntarily talking with him, as if he were with me."

CREEP

Three years ago I went to a national chess tourney with some friends. We stopped off at a restaurant, and there was this older man there who claimed he was traveling cross-country, meeting famous people and the like. So the friends I'm traveling with - their Dad tells me to go interview him for the trip. I had brought along a video camera, you see, to document the trip and the tourney. So I went over to him and sat down and offered him an interview about his travels. He seemed jovial at first, but when I brought up cameras he became alarmed as hell, and very unsettled. I had to promise him not to record him in any way. I was a bit put off, but I agreed. So I decided to try my best to remember the conversation after we had it and I would jot it down later.

So for the first half of the conversation everything went pretty all right. He told me stories of his travels on the road, close calls in towns, people trying to mug him, close calls hitchhiking with people who turn out not so normal (ironic really), and places he'd been. He also liked talking up religion a lot. So then he starts talking about one time he camped outside of a town in Minnesota. He tells me how he stops at this diner, and this girl there starts hitting on him. The story got really weird, and long story short, it turned into him trying to run away from this girl after she found him at his campsite and tried to rape him. But I chocked it up as a tale he told to spice up the conversation because he enjoyed my company, and I let it go. 

But then he hit me with a zinger. He told me that he predicted what the girl was going to do. He told me he could predict things because he had power. He started talking about the Bible, God, and the second coming a lot. Then he got in my face and said he thought he could trust me. So he asked me if I wanted to know who he really was. I started getting really unsure about this whole thing, but I said sure. 

He took his hands and placed them on the table, laying them flat. On his palms were holes going straight through, from one side to the other. His feet had them too. He said he was marked as the Second Coming, and he was traveling the country bringing the truth and healing and helping others, and operating a website out of his van. He said he had not yet risen to power, but he would, and when he had met his quota, he would bring Heaven back to Earth. 

All I could think was "Holy shit, holy shit, this guy stabbed nails through his hands and feet. Please don't kill me, Mister. I've got so much to give." A friend of mine came over to tell me we were leaving at that point, and he also saw the "stigmata" on the guys hands. He just stared at it, like "Holy shit, does this guy think he's really Jesus Christ"? The guy told me his website. I looked it up later. It doesn't exist. I swear there was a van outside with a satellite dish though. I almost said there wasn't but then I remembered there was. He told us to be careful on our trip as bad storms would be coming and they would rain on the good and the wicked alike. Sure enough, on our way back days later, we ran through some pretty heavy, tornadic thunderstorms.

I'll never forget that shit as long as I live. I sat right across from a man who stabbed himself in the hands and feet with nails.

Story source.

Image source.

REVIEW: THE COLOUR OUT OF SPACE (DIE FARBE)

I wish I were more familiar with H.P. Lovecraft. I’ve read only a sampling of his work – “Rats in the Walls” and “Re-Animator” – and, like Poe, found his prose to be simultaneously beautiful and antiquatedly tedious. I recognize both Lovecraft and Poe’s skills as literary legends, but perhaps it’s my simple-minded brain that keeps me from fully embracing their bodies of work. Regardless, they have my undying respect for contributing to the genre and elevating it with their presence.

Because of this, I had no real idea what to expect as I sat down to watch The Colour Out of Space. My exposure to Lovecraft at that point had been the aforementioned short stories, as well as other more modern fare that directly homages and honors the author, like Carpenter’s In the Mouth of Madness, or Stuart Gordon’s From Beyond. Lovecraft writes of slimy, distorted, indescribable monstrosities from other worlds – both in a sci-fi as well as a more general horrific sense. Reading a quick summary of the original short story confirms that the film adaptation is mostly loyal, but obviously has to punch it up a bit to expand the story to an appropriate feature length.

Jonathan Davis (Ingo Heise), of Arkham, Massachusetts (a popular Lovecraft setting), is investigating the disappearance of his father (Ralf Lichtenberg). This investigation leads him all the way to Germany, where he meets Armin Pierske (Michael Kausch), who recognizes a picture of Jonathan’s father…not the recent one he has been using to canvass, but another that depicts him as a young soldier. The two sit down as Armin begins to relate the tale of “the colour,” what it did to the countryside after it crash-landed out of space in a meteorite, and how his father comes into play. It would seem that this meteorite contained a radioactive element that caused nearby produce to double or even triple its size – and that's not all; insects, too, rapidly expanded, and bees grew to the size of rats. Lastly, its exposure to human beings left them in catatonic, near-mad states, and once that occurred, there was no redemption for them.

While I can’t speak for the source material (my assumption comes from Lovecraft stories with which I am already familiar), I am sure The Colour Out of Space unfolds in the same sense as the short story; meaning, it probably takes its time. The adaptation sure does – but not in a detracting sense. Like the types of literature and films its honoring, it unfolds one piece at a time, like any good mystery should do. And despite the horror and sci-fi presence, at its core the film is a mystery. Shot in black and white, it recalls the dreary and mystical world of film noir, made most popular during the early 20th century. This choice of black and white was not obvious to me right away – I at first assumed that the filmmakers chose a black and white canvas due to the completely unique aspect of “the colour” said to be wreaking havoc across the land. For a color that had no place within the earthly color spectrum, I assumed this was the filmmakers’ way of skirting such an impossible task as creating an entirely "new" color. I should have given them more credit. “The colour” does make an appearance, and it appropriately remains the only object in the film to be colorized – artificially, obviously, which definitely lends it a very unnatural appearance. No, the filmmakers chose a black-and-white palette to lend it a foreign and almost dream-like look. And it certainly works, at times coming dangerously close to recalling The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari.

Admittedly, The Colour Out of Space did not grab me at first. I was interested in the story, but not invested. And unfortunately the scenes in which our characters spoke English (German is mostly utilized) sounded very tinny and echoey, as if the characters’ dialogue had been recorded in a phone booth. (The film is a German production, so perhaps the scenes featuring English dialogue were reshoots in order to make international sales more appealing?) I can’t imagine this was a purposeful choice, for if it was, there is no clear reason for it. However, I eventually began to lose myself in the story. As previously mentioned, each layer was peeled back to reveal a new development – the giant fruit, the monstrous bees, and catatonia of the nearby residents – and I found myself very intrigued.

If I had one word to describe The Colour Out of Space, it would be ambitious. Our filmmakers clearly did not have a very large budget, but their sprawling, international story feels bigger than life. What scant CGI effects there are look damn good and comparable to what you’d see in modern theaters, and because they are particularly placed throughout the script, the scope feels bigger in recollection. The direction by Huan Vu (a German Asian! I know! Crazy!) is well-assured, and at times even beautiful. The acting for the most part is more than satisfactory. A few minor characters have a couple lines that don’t sound at all convincing, but luckily our leads feel completely genuine. (You will stare at the young version of Armin Piersk and swear it’s Frederik Zoller, star of the fake Nation’s Pride in Inglorious Basterds, but you’d be wrong.)

Fans of Lovecraft would be missing out if they did not give this adaptation a try. Additionally, fans of film noir, German expressionism, sci-fi, and classic tales of horror should also check it out.

BUY ME THIS: PET SEMATARY PROP

This is Judd's (Fred Gwynne) mechanical head from the 1989 Stephen King classic horror film Pet Sematary. The bust can be seen as undead child Gage (Miko Hughes) slices Jud across the mouth with a scalpel in the process of killing him. The bust is made out of urethane over a foam core and has been painted and detailed to appear as if it were the real actor complete with white sideburns and hair around the lower back of the head. The open mouth is covered in dried fake blood and has a cut across it. The most exciting part of this piece is the top piece of the hollowed-out head is exposed with two black levers inside that when manipulated, move the mouth up and down. There are also thin plastic tubes still connected that were used to pump blood through the mouth, completing the gruesome effect. This head is mounted on a small wooden base, is labeled “Fred Gwynne” at the bottom, and measures approximately 19" x 15" x 11" (48cm x 38cm x 28cm). This piece is in good condition.

Wow.

Buy it for me!

REVIEW: THE HUNT

Historical and classic literature remains with us to this very day, not just in their original textual form, but in other ways—re-realized, re-envisioned, and redistributed.  One need look no further than “Sons of Anarchy” to see a very modern, bloody, and bad-ass retelling of Shakespeare’s Hamlet. AMC’s massively popular “Breaking Bad” carries shades of both Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein as well as the soul-to-the-devil legend of Faust. Even Twilight, the most absurdly terrible thing to happen to both literature and cinema, unfortunately must be associated with the bloodsucker that started it all, Bram Stoker’s Dracula (sans glitter and organized vampire baseball games).

The reason I bring this up is because there’s another dark tale from our literary past that often resurfaces in film—that of the 1924 short story “The Most Dangerous Game” by Richard Connell, a morbid tale of men hunting down their favorite kind of pray in a forest or jungle landscape: other human beings. This tale has inspired some massive contributions to our genre, including Predator, Battle Royale, the absurd Van Damme actioneer Hard Target, and The Hunger Games (along with scores of others, whose titles get more and more cheesy the further we go back).

Thomas Szczepanski's survival film The Hunt is the latest re-appropriation of Connell’s story, and it surely won’t be the last. While it doesn’t bring anything new to the table, it provides enough thrills and shocks to warrant a viewing.

*

A young tabloid reporter named Alex is on his last leg at his paper. Readers no longer care about the dog-fucking women he interviews and shoots for his articles, and the editor demands he bring her something of substance, or he’ll be without a job in one week’s time. Desperate for any kind of lead, he visits his girlfriend, a local stripper/fetish sex-worker to see if she can point him towards any of her regular clients that could make for a salacious story. One thing leads to another and he finds himself drawn into the world of human hunting, run by a team of anonymous and extremely wealthy men. The game is simple: three victims, their tongues cut out to prevent being able to blow the lid off the whole thing, have small cases locked to their wrists and are sent out into the woods, where they are to be hunted down and killed. If they are, the successful hunter wins whatever awaits them within the locked cases; essentially, the “bets” that the hunters made before the start of the game. Alex, masking his true identity, takes part in the game to see just how far these men are willing to go in the name of the ultimate sport.

The Hunt landed unceremoniously on video earlier this summer, which is somewhat of a shame, given that the film is more than competently directed by Frenchman Thomas Szczepanski. With the film being 75 minutes, he has a lot of story to tell within that amount of time. And while the crux of that story is told in a way that’s at least aesthetically thrilling, what could have been an exemplary take on the story, had it been more fleshed out, instead becomes merely satisfying. The Hunt never fails to entertain on a superficial level, being that you’re watching a team of men hunt another, not going easy on their pray once they catch up. In that gleefully sadistic way of which only the French are capable (see Haute Tension, Inside, Martyrs), The Hunt, too, spares no expense when it comes to bloodshed. Though it is not consistently violent, when violence does occur, it has no problem with going over the top.

*

There are very interesting themes at play here, especially being that the men in charge of the game are presented as extremely wealthy (which isn’t a new addition to the story, but could have been much more exploited thanks to the present-day chasm between the middle and upper class.) Not to mention that as the camera pans across the walls the first time we see the mansion which houses what could be called home base of the game, snippets of antiquated paintings and portraits of stately men very subtly suggest that the hunt is anything but new—that, perhaps, it’s been going on for centuries.

Szczepanski is more interested in spinning a stylistic tale than poking at your moral fibers, though there is one specific sequence in the film that’s absolutely due for praise: in a moment where Alex finds himself in the midst of the game, splashing river water across his face in an effort to shock him back to reality, he spies one of the intended victims staring at him from the other side of the river. Alex stares at this victim for a long time, a peculiar look on his face, as the victim, unsure of what’s about to happen, looks back in fear. It’s a great moment because we, as the audience, have absolutely no idea how Alex is going to respond. We already know that Alex is already kind of losing his mind in the thick of the game’s madness. And we also know the sole reason he’s even involved in the game is to save his career, the goal behind that, of course, being money. Well, before him sits a wad of cash in the case chained to the victims’ arm. Will Alex blow the lid off the story, as is the reason he is there in the first place? Or will he push all that aside and join the game, in hopes of hitting it big?. Presenting this question in the form of this scene was an extremely purposeful choice, and it’s expertly handled by the filmmaker.

Unfortunately, the film suffers form that age-old adage: We simply aren’t provided enough background on Alex for us to care about him as a character. All we really know about him is he’s a muckraking reporter who is dating a sex worker, and whose only motivation in life seems to be keeping his job at the tabloid. Except for some sex, Alex and his girlfriend don’t share any scenes together that make us feel like they are anything beyond roommates. Really, there’s no emotional moments shared between either of them at all, so all we’re left to root for is an empty shell of a man who could escape the game as just as easily succumb to it—and we, the viewers, wouldn’t really care either way.

A brisk running time, some thrilling action scenes, and all kinds of bodily harm will ensure that viewers will certainly have a good experience, but those hoping for some more socially relevant themes might find themselves disappointed.

* Images from the film are impossible to find, so my thanks to Basement Screams for the use (stole 'em) of its screen grabs.

HIS DECEITFUL WILES

O God, creator and defender of the human race, look upon this Your servant, whom You did make in Your own image and call to share in Your glory…

Hear, holy Father, the cry of the Church suppliant: let not Your child be possessed by the father of lies; let not Your servant, whom Christ has redeemed by His blood, to be held in the captivity of the devil; let not a temple of Your Spirit be inhabited by the unclean spirit.

Hear, O merciful God, the prayers of the blessed Virgin Mary, whose Son, dying upon the Cross, crushed the head of the serpent of old and entrusted all men to His mother as sons: let the light of truth shine upon this Your servant, let the joy of peace enter into him, let the Spirit of holiness possess him, and by inhabiting him render him serene and pure.

Hear, O Lord, the supplication of blessed Michael the Archangel and of all the Angels ministering unto You: God of hosts, drive back the force of the devil; God of truth and favor, remove his deceitful wiles; God of freedom and grace, break the bonds of iniquity. 

Hear, O God, lover of man’s salvation…free this servant from every alien power…

I adjure you, Satan, enemy of man’s salvation, acknowledge the justice and goodness of God the Father, who by just judgment has damned your pride and envy: depart from this servant of God, whom the Lord has made in His own image, adorned with His gifts, and has mercifully adopted as His child.

I adjure you, Satan, prince of this world, acknowledge the power and strength of Jesus Christ, who conquered you in the desert, overcame you in the garden, despoiled you on the Cross, and rising from the tomb, transferred your victims to the kingdom of light…

I adjure you, Satan, deceiver of the human race, acknowledge the Spirit of truth and grace, who repels your snares and confounds your lies: depart from this creature of God, whom He has signed by the heavenly seal; withdraw from this man whom God has made a holy temple by a spiritual unction.

Leave, therefore, Satan, in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit; leave through the faith and the prayer of the Church; leave through the sign of the holy Cross of our Lord Jesus Christ, who lives and reigns for ever and ever.

Amen.

DESPAIR

"Oh, the terrible struggle that I have had against sleep so often of late; the pain of the sleeplessness, or the pain of the fear of sleep, and with such unknown horror as it has for me! How blessed are some people, whose lives have no fears, no dreads; to whom sleep is a blessing that comes nightly, and brings nothing but sweet dreams."

SHITTY FLICKS: UNDEFEATABLE

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.

Cynthia Rothrock is Kristi Jones, a street-fighter who spars in alleys in order to make money for her baby sister to go to college. Her hair will change dramatically from scene to scene, haphazardly, and for seemingly no reason.

John Miller is Nick DiMarco, a no-nonsense cop whose loose early-'90s wardrobe is no match for his early '90s non-personality. He often works out using a large bow-staff with a pink ribbon tied around his waist.

By themselves, they are just people.

Together, they are Undefeatable.

Our story begins with Anna, a tearful, flowered-dress housewife confiding to her psychiatrist, Dr. Simmons, about the abusive ways of her husband, Paul (aka Stingray). She tells of his sociopathic tendencies, of the physical abuse, and his cold demeanor. This scene so desperate to drip with drama is intercut with the husband in question, who resembles a thick-faced and insane Jerry Seinfeld (the one from the '80s with the mullet), beating the hell out of a fighter in a ring. Stingray stares into the camera, seething with crazy, dripping with sweat.

Thick blood spews from his adversary’s mouth as he delivers a deathly elbow-drop to his back, all shot in glorious slow motion.

Jerry Seinfeld wasn't paid a million dollars per episode because
of his show's popularity; it's because he was crazier than a
shithouse rat, and NBC executives were terrified.

Dr. Simmons urges Anna to leave him, for her own safety as well as for the sake of the “plot.”

Well…she does. But more on that later!

It’s time to meet Nick DiMarco, the flattest male lead you’ll ever see in a moving picture.

Two punks attempt to knock over a convenience store, brandishing their weapons. During this, a small child hands a can of COCA-COLA over the counter, unaware of the current situation.The COCA-COLA can, which contains COCA-COLA, hovers in our line of vision for several seconds.

One of the thieves pushes the small boy, who slides an impossible distance across the floor, right into the legs of Nick DiMarco.

“Maybe you’re too much of a chicken shit to pick on someone your own size,” Nick says drably, as if speaking to his cat.

Fighting ensues, as one of the thieves brandishes a cartoonishly large blade.

“SUCK MY DICK!” he oddly bellows, swooping in for the kill.

A quick point of Nick’s gun right into the thief’s cock causes him to give up pretty quickly.

Nick’s partner enters, unconcerned, and manages,“C’mon, Nick. We’ve gotta go!”

Nick DiMarco wows yet another patron with his
Human Doll impression.

Meanwhile, Kristi Jones and her entourage of Asians meet a black gang in a back alley, ready to fight. In what appears to be goofy, ridiculous tradition, the Asians begin to clap their hands in unison as the black gang stamp the wall behind them, also in unison.

I guess it’s to make sure the audience knows how hardcore this scene is doing to be.

Well, Kristi wins the fight and goes to collect her money when the cops—you betcha, one of them being Nick!—show up to spoil the fun.

The Asians descend to the local college campus to meet Kristi’s sister, Karen. The Asian gang jokes that their high IQs make it impossible for them to enroll in college (?) before becoming morose and remembering the whole reason they're even there is to tell Karen that her sister has been arrested.

“The cops swept the neighborhood and arrested anyone under 30!” they claim, which is hilarious, seeing as Rothrock is clearly much older than 30.

Back at the station, Nick interrogates Kristi, trying to find out who has been organizing the street fights. Kristi plays it cool and dumb and Nick lets her go, citing, “That kid’s okay.”

Yep…that 37 year-old kid.

Anna, still in her flowered-dress (it’s important to keep noting that), nervously cooks over a steak as her abusive love, Stingray, returns home.

“Hi Anna!” he happily exclaims, moments before savagely and robotically raping her over the kitchen counter. And with each thrust, Stingray’s mind wanders to the fight earlier that day, as his unshelled lobster meat-looking hair flops around on his square head. The rape continues and he dreams of punching black men. He also calls Anna “mommy.” (As the rape ensues, check out the giant box of Kit Kats on top of the fridge. Thanks, corporate sponsors!)

Stingray, having completed both his fuck and his steak, leaves to collect his money from the day’s fight from his “agent” (I guess), Lou.

Rape Face™

Stingray returns home to find a note from Anna saying she has left him. He then flips out and throws stuff for several minutes, all in completely cheesy slow-mo. It even shows an exterior of the house as we hear him continue to break shit and scream, which is a device I thought was reserved only for comedies.

I guess this counts.

As insane as Stingray was before, now it’s safe to assume that he’s totally and completely flipped shit.

“Anna…I’LL FIND YOU” he bellows into the mirror, but then breaks the mood and applies layer after layer of hairspray to his already-stagnate hair as he trades smoldering stares with himself in the mirror.

And find her he does. Or at least he thinks he does.

In a nearby parking garage, an Anna-looking woman in a flowered dress is necking with an Asian prep. Stingray demands "Anna" come home with him, obviously confusing everyone, and it leads to a fight. Unfortunately for the Asian man, but fortunately for all of us, his eyes are plucked out and he’s thrown over the ledge, breaking his fall on an SUV.

Stingray takes "Anna" back to his warehouse, where he proceeds to chain her up and punish her for leaving him, which is just more chains, only this time whipped at her back. She doesn’t much like it.

Her body is later found in a port-o-potty, where Nick and his partner are investigating.

“The sick bastard poked her eyes out!” his partner exclaims. They trade steely glances, decide on a course of action, and they both leave in amusing and distracting symmetrical unison.

Kristi, meanwhile, is back doing what she does best: fighting. Her latest opponent, Bear, tries his best, but just like any investor who put money into this movie and expected a return, he didn’t have a chance. Kristi’s Asian entourage looks suitably pleased.

Bear ends up flat on his back, signaling his defeat. He then leaves with his flowered-dress wife, which catches the attention of Stingray. (Have you noticed a trend yet?)

Bear tries his best, but ends up failing at fighting for a second time, as Stingray crushes the man’s trachea.

Later, Stingray spies a third Anna: Karen, Kristi’s sister, who is by far the weakest actor in the film (and that’s saying something). Karen’s Asian companion attempts to intervene, but is promptly tossed into a pole.

Things don’t end well for Karen.

Meanwhile, Kristi practices swirling and twirling in her backyard with a set of steel weapons that I believe are called “stupid things.” These candy cane-shaped tools couldn’t be less intimidating if they were made of twisted cinnamon bread. Clearly the filmmakers didn’t just make these weapons up, and I am sure they legitimately exist, and in a GOOD movie, I would have accepted their odd construction and moved on, but we’re not in a good movie.

We’re in Undefeatable.

Stingray's habit of spitefully tasting wedding cakes in
front of the bridal party lost him many catering jobs.

Nick drops by with the unfortunate news of Karen’s demise, telling her she must come identify the body, which is very obviously a male's body covered under heavy make-up prosthetics. Rothrock attempts to transition from twirling stupid things, which she is good at, to acting, which she is not. The result is tremendously pleasing.

Kristi notes a series of scratches on her sister’s body, which is a result from a martial arts move called the “Eagle Claw.”

Kristi leaves, thirsting for vengeance, and finds Eagle Lee, a Wang-Chung looking dude in full fire-engine red windbreaker regalia, and master of the “Eagle Claw.” The fight, which for some reason takes place overtop a fleet of barrels, doesn’t last long; Nick shows up, playing the concerned potential-lover role, and breaks it up.

At Karen’s funeral, Kristi stands over her sister's supposed-to-be fresh grave, which clearly has been there for years, the thick, unmowed, undisturbed grass being the dead giveaway.

Thanks to the help of Dr. Simmons, Anna’s shrink, Nick and his partner end up at Stingray’s house, hoping to bring him in. They do not, and that’s good, because this leads to Lou going to Stingray’s warehouse hideaway, where he finds a fish tank full of eyeballs.

“Why would Stingray have a fish tank full of eyeballs?” he honestly asks himself aloud.

After that, he finds a dead girl shoved in a container, and he figures it’s probably time to peace out.

And peace out does - out of Earth, that is, thanks to a bit of strangling via Stingray's rippled arms.

After that, Stingray finds Dr. Simmons at her office. Simmons attempts to fight him off (why does every single person in this movie who isn’t supposed to be playing a fighter still know how to fight?) but it doesn’t really work. Once that fails, a bit of mind-fucking is in order, first pretending to be Anna, and then his mother, a la Friday the 13th: Part 2.

You know your movie is in trouble when you’re stealing from a Jason movie.

Regardless, her “I’m your mommy” thing works primo…a little too well, even.

He grabs her and bends her over a table.

“C’mon, mommy. I wanna play.” He then starts feeling her up.

Ew, Stingray. Gross.

"My son Treat Williams is a chip off the old block,
ain't ya sport?"

He then chains her up and leaves to buy food. Dr. Simmons manages to finagle her ringing phone out of her purse and answer it with her foot. It’s Kristi on the other end, and Dr. Simmons shouts her location.

Kristi swings by and immerses in a breathtaking fight with Stingray, featuring slow motion, flying boxes, swords versus her “stupid things,” and even a scene of slow-mo raining packing peanuts, which I’m sure Quentin Tarantino, the dumb shit lover, awed over more than once.

Nick and his partner show up and ruin the choreographed fighting with a boring shootout, which results in his partner's death and Stingray's escape.

“Breathe, you bastard,” Nick urges emotionally to his partner, but in the way that Nick shows emotion, which is...not.

Nick and Kristi begin to leave the hospital where Dr. Simmons is staying after her encounter with Stingray. Not because of sudden epiphany or suspicious behavior do Nick and Kristi suddenly turn around and head back to the shrink's hospital room, but because of a forgotten pair of sunglasses.

Once there, they see that Stingray has kidnapped Dr. Simmons.

Again.

Dr. Simmons breaks free of Stingray and flees, with Kristi hot on her heels to provide assistance of the female variety.

And then this glorious, fan-fucking-tastic piece of cinema happens:

After the fight, Kristi, Nick, and her Asian men gather at Karen’s gravesite, where Kristi makes her amends and pledges never to fight again. The Asian entourage looks sad at this news, but Kristi drops the bombshell that she has enrolled all of them at the local college. Then Nick drops the bombshell that he has enrolled HER at the local college.

Everyone yells in happiness and the movie ends in a group high-five before they have time to realize that they are all going to have to pay a shitload of money for college classes that they didn’t pick, let alone desire.

Until next time…I’ll be keeping an eye out for ya.

SEE YA.