Entries Tagged 'hurts so good' ↓

Day 25: “Remember when you could sit outside and not worry about the mosquitos and the killers?”

Going into a flick called The Nail Gun Massacre (1985), well, I suppose I should know what to expect: some deadly nail gun shenanigans, a fine patina of sleaze, and a distinct absence of quality. Sure enough, my expectations were met! The only shock I suffered was that in the end, the movie wasn't nearly as lurid as I was expecting.

The movie begins with a gang rape. It's not explicit, nor is it terribly long...but as it literally opens the film, it's a propos of nothing. A woman is surrounded by a bunch of workers at a construction site while a peppy '80s synth tune plays, and it's all so sudden that by the time you've processed that yes, Nail Gun Massacre opens with a rape, it's over. It's not traumatizing for the viewer- it's probably the only instance of cinematic rape where I've claimed that- and one can only assume that it's going to provide the impetus for the titular nail gunning to come.

And provide the impetus it does, in the very next scene! A hairy slob is yelling at his wife (who's outside hanging laundrey on a line) when he's visited by someone dressed in camouflage, wearing a duct taped motorcycle helmet, and wielding a massive nail gun. Judging by the figure's diminutive size and vaguely hourglass figure, it seems this is the rape victim out for a bit of pneumatic-powered revenge.

But is it revenge? Is the hairy slob one of the construction workers who raped that woman? We don't know. We never really know any of the people killed in Nail Gun Massacre- their names, how they may or may not relate to anything that already transpired in the film...it all seems completely random. Oh well, might as well just roll with it.

After the hairy slob is killed and his wife runs off into the woods with her baby, we're treated to the opening credits sequence, which surely ranks among the worst credits sequences of all time. Plain text slowly gives the names of cast and crew while the theme song...isn't a theme song at all. There's no music, only someone's voice filtered through a vocoder, going "muaa...MUAA...MUAA...MUAA" ad nauseum. It turns out that this voice belongs to the killer. Nail Gun Massacre then quickly establishes a pattern:
  1. People you don't want to watch engage in sex engage in sex
  2. Ample bare bottoms and bare boobs are on display
  3. Nail Gun Killer arrives
  4. BANG BANG BANG goes the nail gun
  5. UHHNNN...NO...UHHNNN goes the victim
  6. Nail Gun Killer cracks wise through via vocoder (eg, "Oh, don't you just hate headaches?")
  7. Sheriff arrives, is perplexed by the body, calls the doctor
  8. Doctor arrives in a Camaro, clad in a tank top, says the victim died "hours ago"
  9. They both suspect "Old Mrs. Bailey" of the killings
Add a heaping vat of inept filmmaking, a dose of a horrible script, atrocious acting, and repeat, repeat, repeat.

If anything, Nail Gun Massacre proves that decent slasher movies are much more than the sum of their parts. Though there's nudity, blood, and a masked killer, this is far worse than even the weakest entry in the Friday the 13th series. You've got to have a modicum of skill in at least one essential area (writing, directing, FX, acting) for the movie to work, and Nail Gun Massacre fails on all fronts.

Mind you, this doesn't mean I didn't enjoy the damn thing, because I did. I think the moment it won my heart came during a scene set in a grocery store. An elderly clerk is adding up an order (apparently without the aid of a cash register), and the actress is clearly reading her lines from a script on the counter. She fumbles over a few sentences, and when the scene is finally over...she looks directly at the camera with a look that says "Is that it?" According to imdb, the woman isn't an actress at all, but the director's grandmother, who actually worked at the store- she filled in when the actress originally cast didn't show. I loved her, and it filled me with a sort of "Aww, none of these people are professionals...they're just making a movie, how sweet!" Of course, this doesn't make the affair any better, or really worth your time. It basically endeared the awfulness to me because that's how my brain works.

As I said, it is awful. Another "highlight" occurs during one of the film's copious sex scenes, where a couple is trying to have it off in a 2-seater car. It's not working because there's no room for them to maneuver, and at one point the couple stops moving around completely...while the car still bounces up and down as if they're humping away. The shadow of the person repeatedly pushing down on the car is clearly visible on the hood. The killer soon arrives, prompting the man to ask "What are you, a cop?"- I don't know, how many law enforcement agencies wear camouflage jumpsuits, duct taped motorcycle helmets, and wield nail guns? Maybe things are different elsewhere in the country. At any rate, Ol' Naily makes short work of the couple- the man dies immediately after being shot in the elbow with a nail.

The killer drives a massive, golden-puke hearse and leaves it on the road whilst off wielding the nail gun; the sheriff encounters this hearse many times in many places, but thinks nothing of it. Eventually, he and the doctor stop blaming "Old Mrs. Bailey" (whom we never meet) for the crimes...the sheriff finally begins to think that the rape victim from a few months back might have something to do with this, but the doctor remains unconvinced. After all, he spoke to her after the rape and "She never showed any signs that the rape pushed her mind into a state of killing." The state of killing is so dangerous.

Still, the men go to talk to her...there's a lengthy Camaro vs Golden-Puke Hearse "chase" sequence, and all parties end up at the gravel pit. The killer is soon revealed to be...the rape victim's brother. Yes, despite the fact that the role has been played by a woman throughout the entire film, it's actually a man under the helmet. Uh huh.

Totally. Horribly. Ridiculous. And yet, I could not bring myself to be angry with Nail Gun Massacre. I mean, I'm the one who popped it in the VCR and should have known what to expect. What I didn't expect was that the director's gramma would steal my heart!

Seriously...watch at your own risk.

Day 24: “Midfolker.”

I'm not sure whether or not you should spend any time reading this, because I'mma be real wit chall: I didn't finish watching The Toybox (2005). Nope. Couldn't do it. I gave it a half an hour, and then I had a little epiphany: yes, I decided that SHOCKTOBER would feature a review every day...and for Day 24, I tried. I really did, I swear. I did a little more Hulu research- after all, The Spell was swell- and I decided to give this film a whirl despite its low rating. Apparently the end makes suffering through 75 odd minutes worthwhile...well, it's up to someone with a stronger constitution than my own to find out. I felt guilty turning it off, as if I was failing to fulfill my duties as proprietress of This Old Blog, but then I figured hey, no one would want me to suffer, right? Right. Life is short- too short, really- to be spent watching caca when I could be watching something rad. Occasionally it's worth pushing through the pain to write a fun negative review...or maybe a film will end up hurting so good. I'm not sure where The Toybox would have ended up in that regard, but I'm already moving on to greener pastures.

Stilted, unnatural dialogue that was virtually all exposition...a molasses-slow plot train that seemed headed to nowhere...unlikable characters...yes, this film truly had it all. As I said, it seems that those who managed to push through found some sort of gold at the end of the painbow, but no your humble proprietress. Nope. Couldn't do it. Couldn't stand the crap for Day 24, sorry- my standards are much higher than that.

Coming up for Day 25: Nail Gun Massacre!

Day 19: “His mind went berserk…he flipped out real bad!”

Oh, Film Clubbers, I'm guessing that some of you (if not all of you) had a hard time making it through Slaughter High (1986). It's not a great movie by any means, or even good. However, it has a special place in my heart and of this I am not ashamed. I'm not ashamed I tells ya!

Marty Rantzen is a high school nerd who's picked on and humiliated by all the cool kids. An April Fool's joke goes about 50 miles too far, and Marty ends up in the hospital covered in horrible burns. Ten years later, the cool kids all receive invitations to a class reunion...and one by one, they all die die die.

I'm not going to delve into gobs of details recapping the plot, because Slaughter High follows the standard slasher movie formula: a traumatic event breaks someone's brain, then that someone seeks revenge on the perpetrators of said event. The film hit towards the end of the slasher heyday, and it's undoubtedly a fairly lethargic entry in the genre. Still, as I said...I kind of love this movie. Those of you who've seen it may not understand how that's possible, so I'll make with why:
  • The score is by a slumming Harry Manfredini, who utilizes his famous Friday the 13th work for a sting.
  • Slaughter High comes to the world courtesy of the Sultan of Sleaze, producer Dick Randall...who also gave the world a little something called Pieces. That should tell you all you need to know before you even press PLAY! Randall briefly appears in Slaughter High as film agent Manny, who's got a Pieces poster on the wall of his office.
  • The "prank gone awry" in the film is one of the most horrible in all of slasherdom: after being lured into nudity with the promise of sex, Marty is photographed and laughed at by his classmates...then he's subjected to some mild electrocution...then he's given a swirly...then he's given a fake joint that causes him to barf...then he's burned with nitric acid and fire. You can't really blame him for being a little pissed off.
  • This movie features the most egregious use evarrrrr of actors far too old to play high schoolers as high schoolers: Caroline Munro, for example, was 36 here- a couple of decades beyond her school years.
  • Not only are the actors too old for their roles, they're too British. Bad American accents abound, while their native accents peek through from time to time.
  • These characters have got to count amongst the stupidest in all of horror movie history. There's a killer on the loose, but they're constantly separating and spending time having sex and taking baths. Their big escape plan involves riding a fucking tractor to safety- surely the killer could never catch up to a vehicle traveling 5 miles an hour.
  • The sex scene is AWESOME. Stella, who's a leopard print-clad Markie Post-by way of Jersey-type, seduces Frank with this hotness: " I wanna go to bed with you, Frank." It works, and when she asks for a little mid-coital dirty talk, Frank responds with "Uhh...tits...screw...tits..." It's the best sex scene EVER.
  • The aforementioned bath-taker is Shirley, who gives one of my favorite bad line readings of all time when the gang first arrives at the reunion: "C'mon you guys, let's par-deeeeeeee!" I want to make it my ringtone and my unholy life partner. Is that possible?
  • One of the elaborate killings involved a poisoned can of beer, which causes the drinker's guts to burst through his abdomen Alien-style. Never mind trying to figure out what kind of poison could possibly do that- let's try to solve the mystery of how the poison got inside a sealed beer can!
  • Oh yes, the deaths in Slaughter High are indeed elaborate. Running acid through the sewer lines just in case someone decides to take a bath (good thing that panned out!), the poisoned beer, a bed rigged to electrocute whoever's in it just in case someone decides to sleep or have sex (good thing that panned out!)...the set ups are so complicated and impractical that they make Final Destination jealous.
Now, all these bullet points are either going to drive you to the hallowed halls of Slaughter High, or leave you yelling "Fuck that noise!" I suppose it has to do with tolerance levels and the like. Me? I've got a pretty high one. Read on to find out what the rest of the Film Clubbers think...lots of first-timers this month, which is awesometastic. Now let's par-deeeeeeee!

Film Club Coolies, y'all!
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The Deadly Doll's House of Horror Nonsense
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Dave's Blog About Movies and Such
Tim Kirk
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Movie Reviews and Everything Else
Kill Everybody in the Whole World

Day 5: “I’ve never felt like this before.”

It's a wonder to me that Mausoleum and I have both been walking this planet since 1983, yet last night marked the first time we'd crossed paths. Approximately three minutes after I started playing the DVD, I realized that I'd found my one true soulmate. It doesn't matter where Mausoleum has been all my life- the important thing is that we've found each other at last, and we're now destined to walk the earth together!

Whilst visiting her mother's grave, li'l Susan decides she no longer wants to live with her Aunt Cora. She takes off running through the graveyard, stopping only when she hears someone whisper-singing her name. She peeks inside one mausoleum, but then spots another one across the way that's far more interesting in that it features its own weather system.

She enters the crypt, which is all lit up in greens and purples like the finest Spencer's Gifts. We learn that this is the tomb of the Nomed family...yes, NOMED. That's some seriously Nilbog shit, if you know what I mean.

Anyway, a clawed hand rises from the sarcophagus, things that defy explanation happen, and Susan's eyes light up all green and make a laser noise. The girl done went and got herself possessed!

Fast forward! Susan is now all grown up- she's portrayed by ex-Playboy Bunny Bobbie Bresee and she's married to Marjoe fucking Gortner. A charmed life, you say? It's easy to assume so, but there's a dark side to this fairytale existence! See, a woman of Susan's...err, attributes finds herself constantly subjected to the lechy gaze of creepy weirdo peeping tom gardeners and creepy weirdo Dan Haggerty-esque disco patrons.

All Susan wanted to do was go dancing with her husband (yes, Marjoe fucking Gortner disco dances!), but that Dan Haggerty-esque jerk made it so difficult that she was left with no choice but to use her magic green gaze to set his car on fire while he was locked inside.

The next day, the creepy gardener makes a bold pass at Susan while her husband is at work- her eyes get their green on and we know it's time for some demonic justice! But not before we bear witness to an eerily silent montage that clues us in as to just what, in fact, a gardener does with his day after making a pass at his employer:

He puts down fertilizer!

He mows the lawn!

He reads whilst eating lunch!

He takes a nap on the dock!

He sharpens his axe...

...and uses it!

Finally, Susan gets around to launching Operation: Get Back At The Grope-y Gardener: she strolls out onto her balcony wearing only a towel, then sips Riunite as if she's straight from a Jackie Collins novel.

Okay, in reality that's only Phase One of her plan. She continues the seduction approximately 9 hours later, when it's pitch black outside...insert helpful moon shot!

Susan's plan includes actually sleeping with the gardener- boy, this really teaches him a lesson! He suggests they partake in another round, but instead, Susan does her green-eyed thing, turns into some sort of a monster, and kills him with a garden implement. Okay, I guess that really teaches him a lesson.

Soon enough, Susan's victims don't actually have to trespass against her in order for her to unleash the NOMED lurking inside. Poor Aunt Cora, for example, shows up for a visit only to find herself floating around and killed dead thanks to her monsteriffic niece.

One person spared Susan's wrath is Elsie the maid (LaWanda Page...yes, Aunt Esther from Sanford & Son!). Intended as comic relief, Elsie is, in fact, a whopping slice of politically incorrect pie. Yet while she's given to saying things like "Great googily moogily!", Elsie is a rarity in that she's a black character who makes it 'til the end of the picture. When faced with a green fog emanating from Susan's bedroom, Elsie admits there's "Some strange shit goin' on in this house!", yells "No more grievin', I'm leavin'!", and splits.

There's so much more to Mausoleum, but I don't want to give away the whole package, as everyone should be allowed to discover it for him- or herself. Director Michael Dugan has truly given the world a gift! However, a few highlights:

- Susan undergoes hypnosis where she reveals her NOMED nature and corn teeth!

- There's the use of the term "facial fantasy"
- Dialogue includes "Yes...there's a history of possession."
- When possessed, Susan's depravity has no limits- she steals art from the mall!
- Something happens- I cannot reveal what it is, for you must witness it with your own eyes, but suffice it to say, it causes Marjoe fucking Gortner to pull what can only be called a Ridiculous Face of Pre-Death:

- While Mausoleum makes no sense as a whole, the very last shot of the film is so illogical that it actually defies the laws of science and mathematics. Even if you've never seen the film, your guess as to what the fuck is going on here is as good as mine:

- Then we get the end credits, which feature a tender song called "Free Again", written and sung by Frank Primato. It boasts lyrics like "Let's blow the fire dead...that's burning in my head..." and it's every bit as dreadful as you think it would be.

In case you haven't guessed, Mausoleum is a terrible, terrible film. The acting is horrendous, the dialogue atrocious, and the timing between the players is so off that every scene comes across like rejected audition tapes. There's a charm to Bobbie Bresee, but it's one borne of a performance that feels bathed in quaaludes. The sound is awful, as if there's a muted coffee pot percolating somewhere just off camera for the duration of the film. The direction is all but incompetent at times with dull compositions, pointless zooms and pans, and bizarre insert shots. The end of the film, featuring the "exorcism" (I use that term wicked loosely), takes 20 minutes but should only take seven. The creature effects, by genre vet John Carl Buechler, are '80s-style cheesy.

All of that is true, but oh how I loved this movie! I never wanted it to end, ever. On a scale of 1-10, I'd honestly rate it infinity. Lawd help me, it's true- the depths of deliciousness achieved are face-rockingly limitless. Forgive me, Shark Attack 3: Megalodon...step aside, Pieces...there's a new love of my life, and its name is Mausoleum!

Alright, but can I go with someone else?

Oh. My. Crapping. Crap.

Once upon a recent time I bought a copy of the most perverse, most bestest Bigfoot movie ever, Night of the Demon, via yon Internette. The seller was so effing amazing that he/she/it included a free bonus DVD- the 1981 slasher Don't Go in the Woods...Alone!. Well, my friends, I watched that bonus DVD tonight and...again I say, oh my crapping crap. I think I'm in love.

Right away I had an inkling that I was gonna be in for a treat, as the film proclaimed itself "Spectacular Entertainment".

I don't want to keep you in suspense: they weren't lying.

As best as I could discern, the plot goes something like this: some tools go camping for some reason, a bunch of random people wander around the woods, most of them die, and then the killer gets killed. It sounds totally by the numbers, right? Well, fret not, friendos, for the true delights of Don't Go in the Woods are in the deets*.

Not only is DGitW entirely dubbed, it also boasts the worst acting in the history of ever. EVARRRR. I'm not kidding. Here's a simple math equation to help you grasp the depths of awfulness acheived: think of the worst acting you've ever seen in a movie. Now take out your science calculator and multiply that bad acting by a million. The result will still only be roughly two-thirds as atrocious as what you'll witness in DGitW. These actors defy all logic; I understand that acting is indeed an art and not everyone will excel at said art, but...it was as if these people had never spoken before. At all. Their inflections were off, they were stressing the wrong words, repeating words over and over...it's truly SPECTACULAR ENTERTAINMENT.

"Do you know? At this verrrrminnit. I am missing. As the World TURNS?"

"How do you tell. The rabid from the. UNRABID?"

Don't Go in the Woods is populated with countless random characters, most of whom don't have any lines, never mind a name or a reason for existing. Take, for example, this woman, who is hiking in the woods with her photographer son/friend/weirdo person, who is there to shoot photos of a train.

A train which makes a stop.

In the woods.

We don't see the train, but we hear a train whistle, so I'm sure it was really there.


Or this broad, who doesn't say a word but is clearly cooler than you or I will ever be.

See, she's out in the woods a-paintin'. Mind you, she's not exactly painting what she sees, but who am I to judge? Art is feeling, man, and it ain't safe.

Like most other hikers, Coolie Painter falls victim to...something. Or someone. Up until this point, the stalking sequences progressed like this:
  1. There is no ambient noise, but a character says "What was that??" and looks off-screen.
  2. Cut to a shot of a moving tree branch, while the character says "Aah!"
  3. Cut to a shot of the character, bloody and dead.
What was killing these poor nameless fools? Was it the branches themselves? Was it a bear? Suicide? The first real clue flashed before my eyeballs during Coolie Painter's death: as best as I could figure, it was a knife-wielding Sasquatch who was responsible for all the murdering!

I figured wrong. Much later, after many a sequence wherein we follow people walking through the woods and they're suddenly killed by something just out of frame, the culprit is revealed: it's a wackadoo mountain man, apparently the offspring of Captains Caveman and Lou Albano! He's a right filthy kookadook with a penchant for wearing Mardi Gras beads on his face and poking people- poking them TO DEATH- with sticks.

The music is as horrendous as the acting, a thunking and constantly repeating Casio soundtrack featuring swells that build to nothing and stings present for no reason. The less said about the end credits music (set to the tune of "The Teddy Bears Picnic", featuring lyrics such as "Don't go into the woods tonight, you probably will be killed..."), the better.

Were the last twenty minutes of Don't Go in the Woods...Alone! not so damn padded- and they really were- I'd probably be proclaiming this film to be the love of my life. It's gloriously, uproariously inept filmmaking at its finest...in other words, it's SPECTACULAR ENTERTAINMENT.

As further proof of my assertions, I'd like to provide you with some screencaps from the sequence where the cuckoo nutso cave dude decapitates the wheelchair-bound hiker, but my computer has had enough of this shitty movie and freezes up when I try to play it. My computer has such high standards, you see.

YES I SAID A WHEELCHAIR-BOUND HIKER. He made the mistake of wheeling into the woods...alone!

*That's young folk talk for "details"...once again, I strive to prove my youthful vigor, my "with it-ness", and my relevance.