You know something?
I am sick and tired of zombie movies.
As much as it pains me to confess such, the thought of sitting through another substandard living dead offering, from whatever the source, is now becoming almost obsessional.
For many long years, anyone who asked me the question: "What is your favourite type of movie?" would receive a short, curt bark of the word "zombie." as I scornfully walked away from them, shamed like the dogs that they were.
But no more.
That is, not until Deadgirl.
The plot: Two hormonal twenty five year olds pretending to be 10 years younger go for a walk around an abandoned mental asylum, as you do, and discover a naked woman; beautiful, vulnerable, very, very dead and yet, she still moves. One of the pair is keen upon alerting the authorities, but the other has more devious plans that involve, yes, you guessed it, sticking his pinky piper into the dead girl's crevices until he's really, really pleased with himself.
So begins a battle of wills that can only end with plenty of bloodshed, more than a little naked flesh and a director tainting you at every turn: "That's right, keep looking at her titties. You know she's dead, right? Keep looking, 'cos it's stirring things down below but, remember...she's dead. Yeah, that pussy shot there, the pretty girl with the muff on show, that's doing things, right? But, you do know she's dead...."
A big fan of movies that play with the viewer's morality, this ticks all the right boxes.
For something this low budget, the performances are surprisingly good all round, and there's a nice line in gritty atmospherics.
The director clearly knows the budgetary constraints, and chooses to relinquish spunking most of the dollars on lashings of gore, instead pouring heavy with the tension, to great effect.
Whilst the subject matter will render this film a no-go area for many, those with a strong enough stomach could do much, much worse.
Long live the zombie movie.
Long live the Deadgirl.
4 out of 5
Tuesday, 31 August 2010
Thursday, 26 August 2010
Audition (1999 aka Ôdishon) Dir: Takashi Miike
If there is a better J-Horror movie out there, I am yet to see it.
The plot: When a lonely widower decides it is time to find a new wife, a film maker friend offers to help. Reluctant to begin with, slowly he comes around to the idea and an audition is arranged of thirty potential wives, for a movie that will never be made, though the ladies are unaware of this. Flicking through the photographs of the women, the man is captivated when he sees the picture of Asami. Young, attractive, just his type, he is equally impressed by her audition and invites her out for dinner.
Shy, demure, subservient, she is just what he is after.
But Asami has a dark secret; a penchant for slicing up would be suitors, as punishment for the crimes of an abusive uncle when she was just a girl. Stunning,stunning stuff, this is seat of the pants scary when it kicks in.
The set up is magnificent, as the first two thirds of the movie is all about the characters, drawing you in, tantalising you, making you, you know....care.
Takashi Miike is swiftly becoming a firm favourite director at Smell the Cult, and here he offers up an intelligent, shocking, thoughtful, deeply grisly horror yarn that the aspiring torture porn directors would do well to set as a benchmark.
One of the finest horror movies of all time, this is a must see.
5 out of 5
The plot: When a lonely widower decides it is time to find a new wife, a film maker friend offers to help. Reluctant to begin with, slowly he comes around to the idea and an audition is arranged of thirty potential wives, for a movie that will never be made, though the ladies are unaware of this. Flicking through the photographs of the women, the man is captivated when he sees the picture of Asami. Young, attractive, just his type, he is equally impressed by her audition and invites her out for dinner.
Shy, demure, subservient, she is just what he is after.
But Asami has a dark secret; a penchant for slicing up would be suitors, as punishment for the crimes of an abusive uncle when she was just a girl. Stunning,stunning stuff, this is seat of the pants scary when it kicks in.
The set up is magnificent, as the first two thirds of the movie is all about the characters, drawing you in, tantalising you, making you, you know....care.
Takashi Miike is swiftly becoming a firm favourite director at Smell the Cult, and here he offers up an intelligent, shocking, thoughtful, deeply grisly horror yarn that the aspiring torture porn directors would do well to set as a benchmark.
One of the finest horror movies of all time, this is a must see.
5 out of 5
Wednesday, 25 August 2010
The Expendables (2010) Dir: Sylvester Stallone
Sylvester 'pushing sixty five' Stallone delivers another pumping, high octane actioner.
The plot: A covert CIA agent (Bruce Willis) hires a motley crew of mercenaries, led by Stallone's Barney Ross, to take out the tyrannical ruler of a Gulf Coast island - played with some gusto by Dexter's David 'Angel Baptista' Zayas - and his wealthy American overlords.
Seriously, that's all you need to know.
As most will be aware, the lure of the movie is the red meat on show, with Ross' team made up of Jason 'The Stath' Statham, Jet Li, Dolph Lundgren, Randy Couture (whoever he is) and Terry Crews (whoever he happens to be), half dozen of the primest specimens of manliness you are ever likely to assemble.
Stallone strings together a series of outlandishly implausible, yet riotously entertaining set-pieces, the script around which they are draped one of the weakest I have heard in manies the moon, with Sly making the classic mistake of trying to write comedy when, as a human being, he is about as humorous as a severe bout of throat cancer. A quibble, but a small one as, inevitably, it's the action that is the star here and, fortunately, it is just excellent.
Dumb as a bag of scratchings it may be, but this manages to showcase several scenes I have certainly never encountered in a movie before; the 'fuel dump' attack by the waterplane, The Stath's death move towards the end of the final showdown and a gun so powerful it makes those automated sentry guns in Aliens look like freakin' pea-shooters. Talking of THAT gun, whenever she appears there is the welcome addition of a touch of splatter, albeit of the CGI kind, though it is worth noting that CGI, for the most part, plays second fiddle to proper, live action stunt work done the old-fashioned way, lending the movie an air of credibility it may otherwise have lacked.
Set your brainwaves to dormant, stick matchsticks in your eyelids and strap yourself to an iron lung to keep your basic bodily functions active.
Then sit back and enjoy.
4 out of 5
The plot: A covert CIA agent (Bruce Willis) hires a motley crew of mercenaries, led by Stallone's Barney Ross, to take out the tyrannical ruler of a Gulf Coast island - played with some gusto by Dexter's David 'Angel Baptista' Zayas - and his wealthy American overlords.
Seriously, that's all you need to know.
As most will be aware, the lure of the movie is the red meat on show, with Ross' team made up of Jason 'The Stath' Statham, Jet Li, Dolph Lundgren, Randy Couture (whoever he is) and Terry Crews (whoever he happens to be), half dozen of the primest specimens of manliness you are ever likely to assemble.
Stallone strings together a series of outlandishly implausible, yet riotously entertaining set-pieces, the script around which they are draped one of the weakest I have heard in manies the moon, with Sly making the classic mistake of trying to write comedy when, as a human being, he is about as humorous as a severe bout of throat cancer. A quibble, but a small one as, inevitably, it's the action that is the star here and, fortunately, it is just excellent.
Dumb as a bag of scratchings it may be, but this manages to showcase several scenes I have certainly never encountered in a movie before; the 'fuel dump' attack by the waterplane, The Stath's death move towards the end of the final showdown and a gun so powerful it makes those automated sentry guns in Aliens look like freakin' pea-shooters. Talking of THAT gun, whenever she appears there is the welcome addition of a touch of splatter, albeit of the CGI kind, though it is worth noting that CGI, for the most part, plays second fiddle to proper, live action stunt work done the old-fashioned way, lending the movie an air of credibility it may otherwise have lacked.
Set your brainwaves to dormant, stick matchsticks in your eyelids and strap yourself to an iron lung to keep your basic bodily functions active.
Then sit back and enjoy.
4 out of 5
Tuesday, 24 August 2010
Critters 4 (1992) Dir: Rupert Harvey
Rupert Harvey, erstwhile producer of The Blob, Elm Street 5 and, no surprises, the original Critters movie, here takes up directing duties, delivering a neat, though somewhat schizophrenic monster movie.
The plot: Charlie, have-a-go hero from the first three Critters flicks is on the verge of destroying the final two Crite eggs when a hologram of Bounty Hunter Ug materialises and advises him to leave well alone, else face prosecution for what would effectively be genocide; the knowing extermination of an entire race.
Instead, Ug sends Charlie a transporter, which he uses, but is inadvertently sucked in, leaving him stranded in statis for five decades. When he awakens aboard a salvage vessel, he tries to warn the crew, but the silly bastards won't listen and it is a matter of grim inevitability that they will be picked off one by one by the flesh hungry Critters.
Playing it admirably straight for the most part, this fourth outing for the mouth and fur beasties is entreatingly daft, with low production values and a shaky script, though elevated somewhat by the talent, Brad Dourif in particular; a firm favourite at Smell the Cult HQ.
Not quite a horror, not really playing up the sci-fi, with a notable lack of any genuine bloodshed or nastiness, I suspect this is one example of a budget getting in the way of a director's vision.
Entertaining enough, though.
4 out of 5
The plot: Charlie, have-a-go hero from the first three Critters flicks is on the verge of destroying the final two Crite eggs when a hologram of Bounty Hunter Ug materialises and advises him to leave well alone, else face prosecution for what would effectively be genocide; the knowing extermination of an entire race.
Instead, Ug sends Charlie a transporter, which he uses, but is inadvertently sucked in, leaving him stranded in statis for five decades. When he awakens aboard a salvage vessel, he tries to warn the crew, but the silly bastards won't listen and it is a matter of grim inevitability that they will be picked off one by one by the flesh hungry Critters.
Playing it admirably straight for the most part, this fourth outing for the mouth and fur beasties is entreatingly daft, with low production values and a shaky script, though elevated somewhat by the talent, Brad Dourif in particular; a firm favourite at Smell the Cult HQ.
Not quite a horror, not really playing up the sci-fi, with a notable lack of any genuine bloodshed or nastiness, I suspect this is one example of a budget getting in the way of a director's vision.
Entertaining enough, though.
4 out of 5
Wednesday, 18 August 2010
The Wizard of Gore (1970) Dir: Herschell Gordon Lewis
Herschell Gordon Lewis' lurid and eccentric splatter-fest is a riot of colour and ghastliness and, whilst not perfect, it is a damn fun ride for its duration.
Meet Montag the Magnificent, illusionist extraordinaire, a man with a live performance that will boggle the mind. Every night, before an enraptured crowd, he selects a female volunteer from the audience and performs a cruel and sadistic mutilation of her body, be it swords rammed down the throat, heavy machinery used to carve open her midriff, or a chainsaw to the abdomen to saw her completely in half. The audience watch on, horrified, as Montag plays with the guts and the gristle, brandishing it in their direction so there can be no doubt that the deed has been done before, sensationally, the woman is returned to normal and retakes her seat.
Sadly for the victim, however, there is not long left to live as, hours after each performance, the same women are found mutilated in the exact way enacted on stage.
Is Montag the murderer?
It is all an illusion?
Is any of it happening at all?
As trippy as they come, this is quintessential exploitation cinema, with lashings of gore.
For the most part, what takes place makes very little sense, even within individual scenes as, one minute, Montag is covered in blood and laughing dementedly at a shrieking audience, the next the audience are sitting quietly as if nothing untoward is occurring.
One minute, two women are on stage with swords sticking out of their mouths, the next, all on stage is calm.
This deliberately bewildering style simply serves to add to the feel, challenging the audience constantly:
Is this real?
Is THIS real?
What about this?
Christ, if you think Inception is a headfuck, check this bad boy out, it will send your mind reeling.
With one of the most demented denouements I have ever seen, this just shrieks 'cult classic' with every frame, and is one that every 'genre' fan should most definitely check out.
Thoroughly enjoyable stuff.
4 out of 5
Meet Montag the Magnificent, illusionist extraordinaire, a man with a live performance that will boggle the mind. Every night, before an enraptured crowd, he selects a female volunteer from the audience and performs a cruel and sadistic mutilation of her body, be it swords rammed down the throat, heavy machinery used to carve open her midriff, or a chainsaw to the abdomen to saw her completely in half. The audience watch on, horrified, as Montag plays with the guts and the gristle, brandishing it in their direction so there can be no doubt that the deed has been done before, sensationally, the woman is returned to normal and retakes her seat.
Sadly for the victim, however, there is not long left to live as, hours after each performance, the same women are found mutilated in the exact way enacted on stage.
Is Montag the murderer?
It is all an illusion?
Is any of it happening at all?
As trippy as they come, this is quintessential exploitation cinema, with lashings of gore.
For the most part, what takes place makes very little sense, even within individual scenes as, one minute, Montag is covered in blood and laughing dementedly at a shrieking audience, the next the audience are sitting quietly as if nothing untoward is occurring.
One minute, two women are on stage with swords sticking out of their mouths, the next, all on stage is calm.
This deliberately bewildering style simply serves to add to the feel, challenging the audience constantly:
Is this real?
Is THIS real?
What about this?
Christ, if you think Inception is a headfuck, check this bad boy out, it will send your mind reeling.
With one of the most demented denouements I have ever seen, this just shrieks 'cult classic' with every frame, and is one that every 'genre' fan should most definitely check out.
Thoroughly enjoyable stuff.
4 out of 5
Wednesday, 4 August 2010
Retro Puppet Master (1999) Dir: David DeCoteau
Seventh in the Puppet Master franchise, this is a prequel and is perhaps the most unusual, featuring something of a romantic feel throughout, as well as a noticeable lack of nastiness on the part of the tiny ones.
The plot: Set during the Nazi occupation of Europe, Puppet Master extraordinaire Andre Toulon is holed up in a Swiss hotel, and recounts to his beloved puppets the tale of a woman he loved greatly, as well as how he was taught the secret to animate his listeners by a mysterious Egyptian sorcerer, Afzel, himself on the run from wrathful Egyptian God Sutekh, furious that Afzel has stolen the gift of life.
As you can imagine, it's pretty fanciful stuff, but it is not without its charm.
Greg Sestero is a likeable enough young version of Andre Toulon and Jack Donner makes for a plausible sorcerer, if that statement isn't an oxymoron!
It drags its heels, however, and the lack of out and out viciousness is a tad disappointing.
Still, I've got a bit of a soft spot for all things Full Moon (the Production Company) and, even though it's clear Charles Band (creator of the franchise, and the man behind the overall story arc) has only ever had one idea, it's a decent enough one, that usually keeps me watching.
A Puppet Master movie you can watch with Grandma?
You bet her withered ass.
3 out of 5
The plot: Set during the Nazi occupation of Europe, Puppet Master extraordinaire Andre Toulon is holed up in a Swiss hotel, and recounts to his beloved puppets the tale of a woman he loved greatly, as well as how he was taught the secret to animate his listeners by a mysterious Egyptian sorcerer, Afzel, himself on the run from wrathful Egyptian God Sutekh, furious that Afzel has stolen the gift of life.
As you can imagine, it's pretty fanciful stuff, but it is not without its charm.
Greg Sestero is a likeable enough young version of Andre Toulon and Jack Donner makes for a plausible sorcerer, if that statement isn't an oxymoron!
It drags its heels, however, and the lack of out and out viciousness is a tad disappointing.
Still, I've got a bit of a soft spot for all things Full Moon (the Production Company) and, even though it's clear Charles Band (creator of the franchise, and the man behind the overall story arc) has only ever had one idea, it's a decent enough one, that usually keeps me watching.
A Puppet Master movie you can watch with Grandma?
You bet her withered ass.
3 out of 5
Star Trek: Generations (1994) Dir: David Carson
The first big screen outing for the Next Generation crew is something of a confused affair, not least because they have to share the limelight with some blowhard has-beens from the past for half the fucking run time.
The plot: In Kirk's latter days, just past retirement. he is on launch duties with a new incarnation of the Enterprise when a distress signal comes in.
The new captain, being a bit of a wet fish, looks to Kirk for guidance and it's not too long before Kirk is getting his hands dirty.
When a Nexus strikes the vessel, Kirk is lost, presumed dead.
In the future, in Next Generation time, one Doctor Soran (Malcolm McDowell) is the sole survivor of an apparent Romulan attack on a space station. When the crew attempt to help him, they discover he is not what he seems, having a direct link to the Enterprise aboard which Kirk seemingly perished, and he will stop at nothing to rejoin the Nexus.
Straddling two series was always going to be tricky, and it makes for a disjointed affair, with whole portions given over to one crew, then the next, then back to the first in a kind of temporal pass the parcel that is pretty jarring.
The old crew are well past their sell by date by now, and come across as a bit of an embarrassment, especially Doohan (Scotty) who was always an awkward, annoying presence, his insufferable attempts at a Scottish accent more painful with each passing year.
A most unworthy debut for perhaps the greatest crew to ever man the good ship Enterprise, though much better was to follow:
Next up, The Borg.
3 out of 5
The plot: In Kirk's latter days, just past retirement. he is on launch duties with a new incarnation of the Enterprise when a distress signal comes in.
The new captain, being a bit of a wet fish, looks to Kirk for guidance and it's not too long before Kirk is getting his hands dirty.
When a Nexus strikes the vessel, Kirk is lost, presumed dead.
In the future, in Next Generation time, one Doctor Soran (Malcolm McDowell) is the sole survivor of an apparent Romulan attack on a space station. When the crew attempt to help him, they discover he is not what he seems, having a direct link to the Enterprise aboard which Kirk seemingly perished, and he will stop at nothing to rejoin the Nexus.
Straddling two series was always going to be tricky, and it makes for a disjointed affair, with whole portions given over to one crew, then the next, then back to the first in a kind of temporal pass the parcel that is pretty jarring.
The old crew are well past their sell by date by now, and come across as a bit of an embarrassment, especially Doohan (Scotty) who was always an awkward, annoying presence, his insufferable attempts at a Scottish accent more painful with each passing year.
A most unworthy debut for perhaps the greatest crew to ever man the good ship Enterprise, though much better was to follow:
Next up, The Borg.
3 out of 5
The Gate (1987) Dir: Tibor Takács
Something of a cult classic, this one, and a firm favourite in the Smell the Cult household.
The plot: Two young lads accidentally open up a portal to the underworld and awaken centuries old demons by reciting the words from a heavy metal album. The daft sods.
That's your lot in terms of story, but this is bloody entertaining stuff.
The special effects, whilst a little clunky, are great to watch, the little critters that pour from the portal looking like a cross between the Ghoulies from, erm, Ghoulies and Lotney 'Sloth' Fratelli from The Goonies, animated via the stop-motion technique, the overlay process not particularly good so it is clear as day that they are not actually there in the house, the young actors having to scream and wail and holler to an empty room.
They probably felt a bit silly.
They probably felt a bit silly and just did it for the money, anyway, not for the love, not for the craft, the grasping little pricks.
With a decent, 80's synth soundtrack, a fake 80's thrash track from an album called The Dark Book, and more fashion faux pas' than you can shake a pair of fluorescent leggings at, this is campy, retro, feel good horror. No-one actually gets hurt, no-one is ever likely to die and, even when the odd bit of badness does occur, you know that it will all be set right by the end of the movie.
With only one real moment of gruel, when our hero Glen sticks his hand through his fake father's face, and said face begins to peel off, this is certainly not one that will have you leaving the lights on at night.
Nevertheless, it's a fun ride, and far superior to most modern horror.
4 out of 5
The plot: Two young lads accidentally open up a portal to the underworld and awaken centuries old demons by reciting the words from a heavy metal album. The daft sods.
That's your lot in terms of story, but this is bloody entertaining stuff.
The special effects, whilst a little clunky, are great to watch, the little critters that pour from the portal looking like a cross between the Ghoulies from, erm, Ghoulies and Lotney 'Sloth' Fratelli from The Goonies, animated via the stop-motion technique, the overlay process not particularly good so it is clear as day that they are not actually there in the house, the young actors having to scream and wail and holler to an empty room.
They probably felt a bit silly.
They probably felt a bit silly and just did it for the money, anyway, not for the love, not for the craft, the grasping little pricks.
With a decent, 80's synth soundtrack, a fake 80's thrash track from an album called The Dark Book, and more fashion faux pas' than you can shake a pair of fluorescent leggings at, this is campy, retro, feel good horror. No-one actually gets hurt, no-one is ever likely to die and, even when the odd bit of badness does occur, you know that it will all be set right by the end of the movie.
With only one real moment of gruel, when our hero Glen sticks his hand through his fake father's face, and said face begins to peel off, this is certainly not one that will have you leaving the lights on at night.
Nevertheless, it's a fun ride, and far superior to most modern horror.
4 out of 5
The Omen (2006) Dir: John Moore
You know, I really expected to hate this.
I anticipated that, shortly after viewing, my body would erupt in blisters, searingly painful, dripping greenish yellow pus before my entire being began to shut down, tongue swelling, internal organs failing as I fell into anaphylactic shock, an allergic reaction so severe it would bring to an end my pointless, meaningless time on this unforgiving, cruel planet.
But no such luck, I'm afraid.
Instead, I found myself to be nothing but entertained.
As if you don't already know it, here's the plot: An up and coming politician, Robert Thorn, is traumatised when his wife miscarries and opts to replace the child with that of another woman who died during delivery, not telling his wife of his act. Sweep forward several years and Thorn is now American Ambassador to Great Britain.
A priest pays Thorn a visit (the always magnificent Pete Postlethwaite) and tries to convince him that his son is not what he seems, that he is in fact The Antichrist. Thorn sends him on his way but, slowly, events begin to fall into place that suggest that the priest was not a raving lunatic and that maybe, just maybe, The Fallen One is ready to walk the Earth once more.
As anyone who has read previous reviews will know, I am fairly savage when it comes to modern horror, particularly remakes of genuine classics as, for the most part, they are disastrous affairs.
Here we have something a little different, however.
A remake that takes no liberties, that stays massively faithful to the source material, not meddling, not trying to mend something that wasn't broken in the first place, instead intent only on modernising, on bringing a cracking good movie idea to a new audience.
Whilst there are arguments, and sound ones, against the need for updating as anyone with an ounce of intelligence and taste can 'cope' with a movie that is, after all, not yet thirty five years old - Christ, I've got blisters on my feet older than that - but it is an unfortunate fact that, to many, anything pre 1990 is already vintage, already old fashioned and, therefore, off the radar.
A dimwitted attitude that may be, but heh, I don't make the rules.
Whilst not perfect - Liev Schreiber is pretty bland as Thorn and the lack of the original score loses something in terms of atmosphere - this is still a respectful, well made remake of one of the most well known horror movies of the 70's.
4 out of 5
I anticipated that, shortly after viewing, my body would erupt in blisters, searingly painful, dripping greenish yellow pus before my entire being began to shut down, tongue swelling, internal organs failing as I fell into anaphylactic shock, an allergic reaction so severe it would bring to an end my pointless, meaningless time on this unforgiving, cruel planet.
But no such luck, I'm afraid.
Instead, I found myself to be nothing but entertained.
As if you don't already know it, here's the plot: An up and coming politician, Robert Thorn, is traumatised when his wife miscarries and opts to replace the child with that of another woman who died during delivery, not telling his wife of his act. Sweep forward several years and Thorn is now American Ambassador to Great Britain.
A priest pays Thorn a visit (the always magnificent Pete Postlethwaite) and tries to convince him that his son is not what he seems, that he is in fact The Antichrist. Thorn sends him on his way but, slowly, events begin to fall into place that suggest that the priest was not a raving lunatic and that maybe, just maybe, The Fallen One is ready to walk the Earth once more.
As anyone who has read previous reviews will know, I am fairly savage when it comes to modern horror, particularly remakes of genuine classics as, for the most part, they are disastrous affairs.
Here we have something a little different, however.
A remake that takes no liberties, that stays massively faithful to the source material, not meddling, not trying to mend something that wasn't broken in the first place, instead intent only on modernising, on bringing a cracking good movie idea to a new audience.
Whilst there are arguments, and sound ones, against the need for updating as anyone with an ounce of intelligence and taste can 'cope' with a movie that is, after all, not yet thirty five years old - Christ, I've got blisters on my feet older than that - but it is an unfortunate fact that, to many, anything pre 1990 is already vintage, already old fashioned and, therefore, off the radar.
A dimwitted attitude that may be, but heh, I don't make the rules.
Whilst not perfect - Liev Schreiber is pretty bland as Thorn and the lack of the original score loses something in terms of atmosphere - this is still a respectful, well made remake of one of the most well known horror movies of the 70's.
4 out of 5
Sunday, 1 August 2010
The Rock (1996) Dir: Michael Bay
Those that have been following the blog or the website for a while now will have noticed a tendency of mine to lambast all things Michael Bay. Be it the hideousness of the Transformers franchise, or his spectacularly annoying intention to remake any horror film of note from the late seventies, early eighties, his is a presence on this Earth I could well do without.
Then I get to The Rock, and I have reason to pause for....say it quietly....it is not utterly dreadful.
Whether that makes it any good, I am yet to be convinced.
The plot: A troubled and rather angry soldier (Ed Harris) leads a platoon of fellow malcontents onto Alcatraz, the force in charge of enough corrosive nerve agent to render San Francisco's entire population a gibbering pool of semi-humanoid matter.
The US government see fit to send in a chemical weapons expert (Nic Cage) as well as a man imprisoned for crimes against the state and, as luck would have it, the only man ever to successfully break out of Alcatraz (Connery).
Can their combined intellect outwit those that seem to hold all the cards?
Will Cage demonstrate any degree of acting acumen?
And did Connery use the same techniques to make good his escape from Scotland?
All of Bay's trademarks are in place:
A massively prolonged run time, far in excess of what the plot actually deems necessary.
Action sequences directed with so many camera's deployed that no amount of planning or logistics or, you know, directorial skill are required, you can just lop it all together in the editing suite later.
An overtly pompous score that is one half patriotic, one half bile inducing.
Grimly depressing caricatures of social minorities that border on the offensive: the gay hairdresser cutting Connery's hair is simply extraordinary to behold.
All that being said, something about this movie just about works. As skull-thumpingly dense as all of it is, I found it impossible to despise and, believe me, I tried.
I ascribe none of the movies enjoyability to Bay, mind you, more to a stroke of serendipity.
Things can be good by chance, rather than by design.
I took a dump a few days ago that was shaped exactly like one of the heads on Easter Island:
I didn't mean to create fine art, it happened entirely by chance and here, the same can be said of Michael 'F' Bay.
Then I get to The Rock, and I have reason to pause for....say it quietly....it is not utterly dreadful.
Whether that makes it any good, I am yet to be convinced.
The plot: A troubled and rather angry soldier (Ed Harris) leads a platoon of fellow malcontents onto Alcatraz, the force in charge of enough corrosive nerve agent to render San Francisco's entire population a gibbering pool of semi-humanoid matter.
The US government see fit to send in a chemical weapons expert (Nic Cage) as well as a man imprisoned for crimes against the state and, as luck would have it, the only man ever to successfully break out of Alcatraz (Connery).
Can their combined intellect outwit those that seem to hold all the cards?
Will Cage demonstrate any degree of acting acumen?
And did Connery use the same techniques to make good his escape from Scotland?
All of Bay's trademarks are in place:
A massively prolonged run time, far in excess of what the plot actually deems necessary.
Action sequences directed with so many camera's deployed that no amount of planning or logistics or, you know, directorial skill are required, you can just lop it all together in the editing suite later.
An overtly pompous score that is one half patriotic, one half bile inducing.
Grimly depressing caricatures of social minorities that border on the offensive: the gay hairdresser cutting Connery's hair is simply extraordinary to behold.
All that being said, something about this movie just about works. As skull-thumpingly dense as all of it is, I found it impossible to despise and, believe me, I tried.
I ascribe none of the movies enjoyability to Bay, mind you, more to a stroke of serendipity.
Things can be good by chance, rather than by design.
I took a dump a few days ago that was shaped exactly like one of the heads on Easter Island:
I didn't mean to create fine art, it happened entirely by chance and here, the same can be said of Michael 'F' Bay.
Buffy the Vampire Slayer (1992) Dir: Fran Rubel Kuzui
There are certain movies and TV shows that define era's, specifically when you are something of a genre geek, happy to lap up any old nonsense just so long as there is a spaceship, a zombie, an oversized tentacle or, perish the thought, a vampire involved.
Star Wars, Close Encounters, Poltergeist, Predator, The X Files, Battlestar Galactica.
You get the idea.
The TV series that spawned from this full scale movie was a classic in its own right. True enough, the first three seasons are head and shoulders superior to what followed - you know, like, the one's where, like, Joss Whedon actually, like, had major involvement, and stuff - but still, the series as a whole had a satisfying feel to it. We had beautiful twenty something's running around sunny California, pretending to be teenagers, killing vampires and zombies and Inca Mummy Girls and Lizard Boys and teachers that turn into Giant Praying Mantis'.
I mean, what's not to love, douche bag?
So, with a sense of relative optimism, albeit eighteen years too late, I sat down to watch the movie that kickstarted the whole thing.
And what a load of old cobblers it is.
Maybe it's age, but this was an afront to everything I hold dear.
Dreadful, shrieking, shrill vacuous bints prattling on about their hair and their shoes and their dates and how their parents are, like, soooo lame.
Look, I know it was deliberate.
I fully understand that Joss Whedon was caricaturing the empty headed Jock and Jockette dullards that infest American High Schools and are preened over while the thinkers and the artists are called horrid names year after agonising year until they can take no more, grab their father's gun and load up on bullets bought from Walmart before going on a kill crazy rampage around their hometown.
I get all of that.
But it still didn't help the viewing experience.
Truthfully, I never reached the end, and really have not the energy to comment on this debacle any further.
Avoid like a swollen member dripping pus.
Looooser.
Star Wars, Close Encounters, Poltergeist, Predator, The X Files, Battlestar Galactica.
You get the idea.
The TV series that spawned from this full scale movie was a classic in its own right. True enough, the first three seasons are head and shoulders superior to what followed - you know, like, the one's where, like, Joss Whedon actually, like, had major involvement, and stuff - but still, the series as a whole had a satisfying feel to it. We had beautiful twenty something's running around sunny California, pretending to be teenagers, killing vampires and zombies and Inca Mummy Girls and Lizard Boys and teachers that turn into Giant Praying Mantis'.
I mean, what's not to love, douche bag?
So, with a sense of relative optimism, albeit eighteen years too late, I sat down to watch the movie that kickstarted the whole thing.
And what a load of old cobblers it is.
Maybe it's age, but this was an afront to everything I hold dear.
Dreadful, shrieking, shrill vacuous bints prattling on about their hair and their shoes and their dates and how their parents are, like, soooo lame.
Look, I know it was deliberate.
I fully understand that Joss Whedon was caricaturing the empty headed Jock and Jockette dullards that infest American High Schools and are preened over while the thinkers and the artists are called horrid names year after agonising year until they can take no more, grab their father's gun and load up on bullets bought from Walmart before going on a kill crazy rampage around their hometown.
I get all of that.
But it still didn't help the viewing experience.
Truthfully, I never reached the end, and really have not the energy to comment on this debacle any further.
Avoid like a swollen member dripping pus.
Looooser.
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