DAMAGED Cooking: Louis's Low-Fat "Don't Call La Migra!" Stuffed Bell Peppers!!!

I get lots of crap, mostly from my doctors, for not cooking more healthy, low-fat meals. Given my recent mini-heart attack (I'm saving that story for another time), I have taken it upon myself to be a bit more responsible, cooking at least three healthy meals a week for every one, horribly bad-for-you meal. My first experiment? Louis's Low-Fat "Don't Call La Migra!" Stuffed Bell Peppers!!!



Take a mix of big ol' bell peppers, and cut their tops off. Pretend they are old girlfriends who wronged you--work out some issues! Slice out the seedy-innards and stuff with lean, 93/7 if you can afford it, ground beef (mix your own blend of spices in the meat) and, if you believe in America, some pre-cooked USA brand rice.





Top with 2% cheese and cover with the formally decapitated pepper tops. Put into some Pyrex and bake at, oh, I don't know, let's say 375 for about, you know, whatever, an hour. This is what it should look like when it's ready:



Serve with a side of USA brand rice--mix in some stewed tomatoes for extra flava--and a dollop of fat-free sour cream. Enjoy and, while you're at it, laugh at all those a-holes who are stuck eating Lean Cuisines.

We'll Put a Boot in Your Ass: 02.20.09

Welcome to We'll Put a Boot in Your Ass, my daily snapshot at what makes America the greatest country on the planet. Up yours, other countries!

FRIDAY THE 13TH: File 13!

FRIDAY THE 13TH
Starring Jared Padalecki, Danielle Panabaker, Amanda Righetti
Directed by Marcus Nispel
Paramount Pictures
Review by Louis Fowler

How do you screw up a Jason movie? How do you screw up a character that has been been killed, zombified, sent to New York, blown up, sent to Hell, frozen for centuries, sent to space and turned into a cyborg? How do you mess this formula up? The things that the makers of the FRIDAY THE 13TH films have done to iconic slasher Jason Voorhees would be laughable on any other cinematic legend, but we accept it when it happens to Jason. “Suspension of disbelief” might as well be his middle name, and because we accept that suspension, we can take anything that the filmmakers want to give us. We can accept anything as long as it moves the character forward.

That's the problem with Platinum Dunes remake/re-imagining of FRIDAY THE 13TH; it's the biggest step back for any horror character since, well, ever. As you watch this flashy flick roll on-screen, it feels as if you're watching thirty years of your love for those films brutally eviscerated right before your eyes. Everything you love about the films and the character is systematically dismantled, without a care for anything but money; this FRIDAY is a tedious, soulless, barely entertaining movie that is so completely lacking in the “fun” of what you expect a FRIDAY film to be, that it might as well have been any other teen horror film of the past five years.

Yeah, that's why I didn't like the movie, and, in my mind, is it's greatest sin: it was just plain NO FUN. It wasn't a good time. Not once did I have a smile on my face, not once did I feel any “joy”. It was bleak, and dark, and, well, boring. It was just some killer, walkin' around the woods and killing. Nothing to make it different, nothing to make it stand out, nothing to give it an identity. Just stalk, hack, splat, cue the screamo, repeat, yawn.

And the ironic thing about FRIDAY THE 13TH is that, while yes, those original Jason films followed a basic formula that was constantly improved upon, it appears as though Platinum Dunes also has a formula—one that is apparently, if nothing, consistent—and said formula trumps everything that has gone before it. FRIDAY might as well have been THE TEXAS CHAINSAW MASSACRE 3: LEATHERFACE GOES TO CAMP.

Forget that both films use the plot device of teens planning to sell a huge drug stash, taking a wrong turn and being chased by a mask-changing, vegetation cutting-tool wielding villain that lives under a house and has a collection of creepy dolls, while all the locals are all toothless rednecks, the city folk Abercrombie and Fitch models and the sheriff inept. Forget all that. Instead, replay the movie in your head with this idea: Jason is so unlike the Jason we know, that you could have easily replaced him with Leatherface and no one would have been the wiser; can't you picture Leatherface sneaking up behind any of the naked teens, smacking them on the noggin with a tenderizer and dragging them to his underground lair, prepping them for dinner? Only, instead of wearing the face of his latest victim, he found a hockey mask in the barn. (Couldn't they at least have gone one step further and hired R. Lee Ermey as Crazy Ralph, at least? I mean, if you're gonna go, go all the way, Mr. Bay!)

The plot is standard, of course: teens go in the woods, teens get killed. That's fine. That's great. The teens are all horny jerk-offs who want to party, get high and speak in a JUNO-esque teen-speak that only exists in the mind of 40-year-old screenwriters. I can deal with that. That's what I expect. After all, I don't like my teens to be likable, I like them to be dead.

So, keeping that in mind, director Marcus Nispel has one job, and one job only: kill teens off in various cute and clever ways. It's very easy to do, yet he manages to massively fail even at that by filming many of the killings as darkly as possible, with the camera shaking the action out of frame. I have no idea what's going on during the action sequences, but I guess that's the Platinum Dunes stylistic trademark. When will this trend of shaky camera-work finally end? Remember when filmmakers put the camera on a tripod and pushed “record” and filmed the action in a clear, concise manner? Was Nispel absent that day in his community college videography class?

(Funny enough, there was really only one killing that was clearly shot and edited: when the topless ski-chick gets a machete through the head while she's hiding under the dock. And, if you read many reviews of FRIDAY, you'll see this is the one everyone brings up. Why? BECAUSE IT'S THE ONLY MURDER YOU CAN CLEARLY SEE!)

When the film ended, I was just encased in this state of depression. I realized that because this is a huge hit, that means that this is the new way Jason is going to go from now on. This is the NEW Jason! Just think: you'll never see another Jason film like you remember. You'll never see a FREDDY VS. JASON 2. You'll never see a JASON X 2. You know, it's actually kinda cynically clever, when you think about it: after eleven movies where so many have tried to kill Jason forever, the one thing that finally got him for good were some suits gathered around a long oak table in a big studio who have probably never even seen a FRIDAY film.

Sure, many people griped and moaned about HALLOWEEN, but hey, at least the Akkad organization hired Rob Zombie, a real horror-fan with a grasp and actual love of the character of Michael Myers. Are you feeling kind of sorry know? Are feeling like you took it for granted just how good you really had it?

You see, when you hire a director to do a remake, you want someone who can not only inject their own personality into the franchise start-up, but also someone who knows the right way to make a glowing homage to the SPIRIT of the character. It's obvious that Michael Bay is all business when he buys the rights to these films and former commercial and music video director Nispel (you might have enjoyed his work for the Amy Grant's “House of Love” like I did) is just a hired hand who is just doing a workmanlike job. He has no personality, and, as it shows on-screen, no love whatsoever for the character. The only thing this guy loves is his paycheck. The only thing Michael Bay loves are his profits. Happy Valentine's, guys!

FRIDAY THE 13TH was not a film. It was an ATM machine that was quickly made to make the novelty of a Friday the 13th street date. It's the loss of innocence and the end of the childhood for all of us who grew up with Jason and his antics. Funtime is over. It's time to put those childish things behind us and face the cold, hard reality of adulthood. The cold, hard reality that the cliché is true: you can't go home again, even if that home is a shack where you keep the severed head of your beloved mother.

Goodbye, Jason. It was nice knowing you. Leatherface is waiting, and don't worry, Mr. Bay will be sending Freddy down to see you in a couple of months.

JASON SEXLESS: Generation Lame has taken your horror away!

JASON SEXLESS: The rise of Generation Lame and their effect on the future of horror, or the studios have abandoned you for a 15-year-old asshole.
by Louis Fowler

(Author's note: Yes, I know that F13 does have nudity in it. This isn't really about that as much as it is about the current state of horror and who the films are being marketed to. Got that?)

In a recent interview with a horror website, FRIDAY THE 13TH remake producer Brad Fuller said this about the movie that opens today:

“We shot the movie and we do all of our nudity and we test the movie. That’s always a stressful thing. And the one thing that we felt bullet proof on was the kids were going to love the nudity in the movie.
We were convinced that it was going to go over well, and the craziest thing was, the most hated thing about the movie in the first cut of the movie was that there was too much nudity. And the majority of those comments came from boys under 25 which was totally baffling, and ironically, the women had no problem with it, but boys under 25 did.”

So let me get this straight: men, 25 and under, are against nudity in horror films. Is that the gist? Was the screening audience was full of fey, penis-less Joss Whedons-in-training? And, more importantly, when you hear news like that, doesn't it just make you hate this new generation?

This new generation, let's call them Generation Lame, will destroy all that we know and love about, well, not only “genre” pop culture, but all pop culture in general. I mean, have you heard Fall Out Boy?

When we were younger, horror had balls. It was cool for a director to say “fuck the MPAA” in FANGORIA. Now, PG-13 is the order of the day and filmmakers not only want to work with the MPAA, but they post thank you letters on their blogs. Welcome to the neutered world of Generation Lame.

So who exactly is Generation Lame? Take a look around you. See that girl with the multi-colored streaked hair and the Paramore t-shirt? You know, the one who's crying and Facebooking about how her dad doesn't “understand her”...she's one. Oh, hey, and what about that skinny guy over there? He's wearing corduroys, a professionally disheveled hair-style and a scarf? He's one of them. His iPod is full of “Brooklyn-based indie art-rock collectives” and, what's this, he's reading a book on Che Guevara! Hey man, you're different! You have an identity! Now cut yourself!

Males in Generation Lame have no balls. They were raised by single moms who verbally ravaged, on a regular basis, their weekend dads. They are all dime-a-dozen sensitives who cry at the drop of a hat, keep diaries that they write in in coffee shops and voted for Obama, although they don't know why. They are, in essence, the new women. Anyday now, their bodies will adapt and they'll start their periods. But hey, look on the bright side—it's a new thing for them to write a poem about!

The girls in Generation Lame, on the other hand, using the banner of feminism (girl power!), have become nothing more than vapid, emotionless quick lays. Instead of being “somebody”, it's all about “the scene”. It's all about ripping up a t-shirt of a band they know the logo of, but not the music. A band like the Ramones—it'll go great with those tights and chunky boots! Because daddy never loved them, they fuck and fuck and fuck. All that progress down the tubes, ladies. Way to go.

Sex is so easy for teens today. When I was a teenager, it took work. Lots of man-hours just to touch a breast. And that was at sixteen, seventeen. There were no blowjob parties for my generation. You were lucky to get a blowjob once. You were lucky to get a blowjob in college. Remember when, in school, if you caught a glimpse of some chick's panties, that was enough to satisfy you for months? Now, you can catch celebrity vagina-shots on the news. Who cares about panties, right?

In only a matter of ten years—and yes, I do blame the Internet—sex has becomes so completely devalued and so attainable for Generation Lame that, even with all this available pussy, the males of Generation Lame are, waaah, even more depressed than ever. Look at the bands they start: instead of writing songs about partying, getting laid and saying “fuck you” to “the man”, they write songs about how being in love with them is like being in THE BELL JAR. Instead of a wailing guitar solo, there's some dread-locked trustafarian playing the tabla. And that's the rock bands!

Look: if you're a female, and you like horror, awesome, Great. Welcome to the club and pass the Alice Cooper. I will treat you like an equal, as long as you're not lame. But let's be honest though: horror is primarily a man's genre. Sure, women can try to co-opt it all they like, but it's typically for and by men. Like porno used to be. Not to be a dick, pardon the pun, but that's the way it is.

(Don't be offended—movies like SEX AND THE CITY are out there for the ladies, and they are marketed as such, and I'm not going to try and cash-in on your genre. You can have it and enjoy it to your heart's content!)

Well, let me rephrase that: that's they way they were. Horror flicks in the 60s, 70s and especially 80s were the men's true crime/adventure pulp mags of our generation. Lurid, exploitative stories that, sure, pitted a virginal, marriageable woman against the terror of an insane slasher, but, more importantly, featured women put into various horrific situations, usually after she has shown her breasts. The criminally arousing mixture of sex and slaughter were the only things horror producers of the day cared about; they wanted creative, gory kills and lots of nudity. Yes, it was wholly misogynistic, but it was the status quo and we liked it. We loved it.

You know who hated it? Washington DC. Tipper Gore. Your pastor. Jerry Falwell. Your mom.

Looking at the quote from Brad Fuller above, it's obvious to me that those guys won. It's ironic, too: today's youth is a moral-lacking, Godless bunch, yet they are completely devout to the whims of the extreme right. They are total sell-outs and they don't even know it. That's the beauty of Generation Lame.

You can say that MY BLOODY VALENTINE 3-D surprisingly broke the trend, with it's extended nude stalk-and-slash, but that's one mainstream, non-straight-to-video horror flick out of what? Fifty? Even then, it needed the gimmick of 3-D to sell it. And, yeah, we have all those wonderful “torture porns”, but even general, especially older, horror fans are tired of those. They want a story with their sleaze again. They want a return to those 80s glories. Why do you think we get so excited about a fun straight-to-video find, like, say, JACK BROOKS or HATCHET?

We, as older horror fans, have got to face facts: the movie studios only want to cater to the younger demographic. The movie studios only want to cater to Generation Lame. The movie theater experience, as you and I know it, it's pretty much dead, folks. Let the kids have their PROM NIGHT—I have my own private sanctuary: my couch and my DVD player. No teens texting in front of me, no teens talking behind me. No one but me and my dog. The way it ought to be.

And sure, MY BLOODY VALENTINE 3-D did just fine at the box office, but you know what is almost at $200 million? TWILIGHT!

The studios are listening to Generation Lame, loud and clear! Think about this: the biggest vampire movie in years—I can even think of one in the past ten years that was a huge box office success—is a film about vampires who, well, share their feelings. They are pale, fashionable, skinny, well-coiffed and cry. A lot. Just like the audience who is going to see it.

MY BLOODY VALENTINE made some money, but you can bet that, in the next few years, in mainstream movie theaters, we are going to see more TWILIGHT-esque movies than straight, old school horror flicks. (I'm guessing it's easier to make a teen vampire drama, where the only special effects you need are a 49 cent pair of wax teeth, as compared to the abundant latex-and-Karo syrup viscera of straight horror.)

Face it, old men. Face it, true horror fans: the studios have abandoned you. They want to know what Generation Lame wants in a movie, not you. They want to pack their test screenings with people who can't even get into an R-rated movie, all of whom, even though they have no bills, no worries and an abundance of intercourse, are depressed. They want indie-rock vampires.

You're old and, now, you're worthless to them. No one cares what you think anymore. Get used to it.

I haven't seen FRIDAY THE 13TH yet, I plan on seeing later today. It's rated R, and that's a plus, and I'm excited because yes, it's a Jason movie, but my expectations? So very low. For the whole experience. The movie will be alright I'm sure, but the whole time, I'll be sitting there knowing it wasn't made for me. It was made for the Generation Lame teenagers behind me who come in about half-way through (after buying tickets for HOTEL FOR DOGS, natch), kicking my chair and giggling. They are the new Jason fans, and thank God they don't have to see bare breasts!

On the other hand, now JASON X—there's a movie that was made for me! Maybe I'll skip the movie theater and just watch that tonight...

We'll Put a Boot in Your Ass: 02.13.09

Welcome to We'll Put a Boot in Your Ass, my daily snapshot at what makes America the greatest country on the planet. Up yours, other countries!

We'll Put a Boot in Your Ass: 02.11.09

Welcome to We'll Put a Boot in Your Ass, my daily snapshot at what makes America the greatest country on the planet. Up yours, other countries!

DEATH RACERS: Jugga-don't!

DEATH RACERS
Starring Violent J, Shaggy 2 Dope, Raven
Directed by Roy Kynrin
The Asylum
Review by Louis Fowler

Rod, from Bookgasm, emailed me and said that he'd love to read what I had to say about DEATH RACERS, the latest “mockbuster” from the good folks at the Asylum. To be honest, I am always down for watching an Asylum rip-off, and, being a huge fan of the recent Jason Statham remake of DEATH RACE, I was dying to see how they would work it with their typical agenda of no stars and even less of a budget. To the top of my NetFlix queue you go, DEATH RACERS!

And then I saw who the stars were...the Insane Clown Posse.

Shit.

In the near future (OK, so far, so good), after a period of social unrest (I like where this is going), a state-sized penitentiary is opened and order is restored (whew, I think this movie may be pretty good!). Too bad the prison is built on top of the state's water-supply and, even worse, a terrorist (essayed by former WWE wrestler Raven) is planning to dump sarin into it (very nice). So, does the governor send in the army or maybe even a team of mercenaries in there to kill him? No. The governor organizes a..wait for it...a DEATH RACE!!! (YES!)

These teams will race each other and try to be the first to kill the terrorist. The four teams include the Severed Head Gang, comprised of Mexican stereotypes but played by a couple of white dorks (ole'!); Homeland Security, which has an Army fixation of some sort (Semper Fi!); Vaginamite, a duo of scantly-clad sluts which seem to have been put in the film to not only show tits, but in an admirable attempt to get women of the roller-girl variety to watch (girl power!); and, finally, as themselves, the Insane Clown Posse. (SHIT.)

(So ICP are put prison, by the way, because their “music” is responsible for causing all kinds of social upheaval among the youth. Yeah, right—I guess social upheaval in the future means getting on welfare and spending all your money at Hot Topic.)

The full-throttle, pedal-to-the-metal racing action hits hard and fast as the racers circle around repeatedly in various parking lots and open fields, at a responsible safe speed, occasionally “hitting” people for extra points, and by hitting people, I mean that an extra carefully runs up to the car and hops on the hood, smearing blood on the windshield with his hand. Ahem.

That's forgivable, even lovable, but, hey low-budget directors, here's a tip: filling your film with jarring, fast MTV edits, shaky cameras, washed-out colors and classic techniques like using fast-motion or rewind for comedic effect isn't artistry. And it's even worse when you use that alongside a hip-hop record-scratching sound effect. What is it? Your first day in videography class down at the local Learning Annex. Hope you study, because right now you're earning a D+, mister!

Per the usual Asylum fare, it's got horrible acting, horrible screenwriting, horrible direction and a soundtrack filled with horrible, just horrible, ICP tunes. What's really adorable is that the flick tries to have an anti-government message that is about as deep as 12-year-old who heard from his favorite band, possibly ICP themselves, that George Bush “sucks”.

Ultimately, films from the Asylum are the cinematic equivalent of being married to Ike Turner: when you first hear about their latest outing, you get excited because you think that maybe, just maybe, this one will be different. This one will be a “mockbuster” that maybe, just maybe, might improve upon the original. But, there you are, ninety minutes later, left lying on the floor, rubbing your freshly blackened eye while simultaneously nursing a bleeding anus. You tricked me again, Ike!

C'mon, Asylum! With all your resources and occasional talent, is it possible to just once make a movie that doesn't pander to the lowest common denominator renter, like, say, a Juggalo? I'd be happy to give you my screenplay entitled SPACE FEDERATION, which chronicles the humble beginnings of the crew of the USS Initiative, and their five year mission to explore both deserted, city park-like planets and the insides of warehouses that are made to look like an underground bunker. Email me if you're interested.

Insane Clown Posse fans need not apply.

We'll Put a Boot in Your Ass: 02.08.09

Welcome to We'll Put a Boot in Your Ass, my daily snapshot at what makes America the greatest country on the planet. Up yours, other countries!

HIS NAME WAS JASON: "So young. So pretty. Oh, what monster could have done this?"

HIS NAME WAS JASON: 2-DISC SPLATTER EDITION
Documentary
Directed by Daniel Farrands
Anchor Bay Entertainment
Review by Louis Fowler

Smartly released to coincide with the upcoming big-budget re-imagining of the classic slasher film FRIDAY THE 13TH, the extensive documentary HIS NAME WAS JASON is the complete history of the former drowned mongoloid child and current zombified iconic killer Jason Voorhees. Without a doubt, it's the ultimate guide to the FRIDAY films and is seminal for both old fans who need a refresher course and new ones who need a primer fast.

As far as my own personal love of Jason goes, I have to admit, and I know this will ruffle a few horror-nerd feathers, but I am not the biggest fan of parts one through five. They are entertaining, don't get me wrong, and yes, the original is a classic, but I've seen them a handful of times and really, that was enough for me. They are kind of one-note and, with the exception of the admittedly creative kills, offer very little for me. Don't be mad--I feel the same way about the first two original HALLOWEENs.

But, then came FRIDAY THE 13TH: JASON LIVES and the series got silly, and it got humor and, best of all, it got interesting. Killer zombie Jason mingled with psychics, went to New York, turned into a demon worm monster, fought Freddy and, best of all, went into space and became a FUCKING CYBORG. That, my friends, is pure entertainment. To me, the earlier ones were just kids getting killed in the woods. Big whoop.

Regardless, the story behind each flick, from the way Paramount hated them to the accidental finger-slicings, is always incredibly listenable, and, in that respect, HIS NAME WAS JASON delivers in spades. And axes. And machetes. The affable and paycheck-loving Tom Savini hosts the cheesy wraparounds, with over 80 talking heads spilling their guts in segments broken down into recaps of each movie, behind the scenes tales, studies of the movies' legacy, including the final girls, as well as the franchise's future with quick interviews of the pretty, hip young things starring in the upcoming glossy remake. It's everything you could want to know about Jason, past, present and future, good and bad.

One thing that I did notice that director Daniel Farrands doesn't do here, and he should really get an Academy Award for it, is that he doesn't cut in a segment that was shot at conventions and features one-second quips of Jason-fans screaming into the camera. So many of these horror retrospectives do that and it is so fucking, well, horrifying. To see these jackasses embarrass themselves, and, in a way, us, on-screen, it makes you want to hide any and all love of horror that you have, just so no one associates them with you.

There are usually two types of these overly-excited horror-fanatics: the extremely overweight guy in a 5-XL ZOMBIE 2 shirt with a shaved head, proudly displaying his hockey mask tattoo and bellowing “Jason's fucking the best, bro! FRIDAY is number one!!” and, the other one, being the skinny, flat-chested Goth chick who shows up at these conventions in their best Hot Topic schoolgirl outfit and only get on camera because they show some panty and coo to the camera that they think Freddy is “hot”.

(Umm...he's a child molester, you know...)

And if that wasn't enough of an added bonus, this two-disc “Splatter Edition” comes complete with two tangible bonus treats: a HIS NAME WAS JASON poster and, best of all, a movie-money coupon, good towards admission to the new movie. Now I actually will see it! Talk about slashing prices!

We'll Put a Boot in Your Ass: 02.05.09

Welcome to We'll Put a Boot in Your Ass, my daily snapshot at what makes America the greatest country on the planet. Up yours, other countries!

Casper Van Dien Battles the Big Bug of Child Abuse!!!

I have long gone on record that I love the work of Casper Van Dien. I have long gone on record that I like Casper Van Dien not only as an actor, but as a person. He's always seemed affable enough and, if this is any proof, one socially-conscious fella.

Casper, in total character as Johnny Rico from the lovable STARSHIP TROOPER flicks, pleads with humanity to not only fight the bug menace, but the menace of...wait for it...CHILD ABUSE! Yes! Score one for the Federation's out-reach program!



Part of me believes that this is totally in-line with the STARSHIP TROOPERS canon. If you saw the last--and oh yes, I did--the world government became a theocracy, and, last time I read the Bible (well, a Cliffsnotes of the New Testament, at least), it says beating an innocent child is wrong. Damnable, even. Here's a more straightforward ad, but with even better production values AND those kick-ass Marauder battle-suits...



Combating child abuse + fighting alongside Casper Van Dien? I WILL be there on that battlefield with you, soldier! Now where's my plasma-cannon...

We'll Put a Boot in Your Ass: 02.04.09

Welcome to We'll Put a Boot in Your Ass, my daily snapshot at what makes America the greatest country on the planet. Up yours, other countries!



Special thanks to Joshua for this submission!!! Have you got a "We'll Put a Boot in Your Ass" submission? Send 'em over to orcho5000@hotmail.com!!! Do it for liberty!

DAMAGED Publicity: THE FILM FIEND strokes my ego!

Some blogs you read once a week, some blogs you read everyday. THE FILM FIEND is the latter, filled with great upcoming DVD news and reviews that always keep my NetFlix queue stocked. It's all written in a fun, informative and, best of all, honest manner that makes it a real great read. Who knew that he felt the same way about my blog?!? In a new feature, Blogs That Matter, in his first segment, he dutifully and rightfully gives DAMAGED 2.0 massive props! Here's what he said:

Damaged 2.0 - Although Louis Fowler's insanely readable blog has moved away from cinema-related carnage as of late, that doesn't mean you should blatantly ignore that man's work. For lack of better hyperbole, I'll boldly proclaim Louis to be one of the funniest bloggers in operation today. I'm still afraid to try any of the man's demented homebrew recipes.

Thanks, Film Fiend, and back at ya!

42ND STREET FOREVER VOL. 4: Paradise, two minutes at a time.

42ND STREET FOREVER VOL. 4
Synapse Films
Review by Louis Fowler

Some people look forward to Christmas, some people their birthday. Me? Well I look forward to whenever Synapse releases another volume of their incredibly exhaustive and excruciatingly entertaining 42ND STREET FOREVER series. I make myself a honey-baked ham, pop open some Manischewitz and kick back, enjoying every amazingly fun b-movie trailers these guys have found.

I know—some of you are saying “Why watch the trailers? Why not seek out the whole film?” Because, let's be honest, most of these films are gonna suck if you have to watch the whole thing. And I have watched the whole thing of many of them. But, if you can see all the best (and by best I mean worst) scenes in a two-to-three minute snippet, then it's like having a whole film-festival in two hours. Or, for something fat people might get, it's like a Whitman's sampler of film.

Here's the highlights:

● You remember those toy machines at your grocery store that always had gumballs and Homies figures for fifty cents a pop? And do you remember those sticky hands that you could get? You'd fling them at people or at the wall and it would stick? Remember? Well, in IT CAME WITHOUT WARNING, a big-headed alien is flicking those at Jack Palance and Martin Landau.

● You would think that, with all the pure dreck that has been released on DVD, that YOR, THE HUNTER FROM THE FUTURE would be out by now. It's not. Seeing this trailer, with shaggy-haired, loin-clothed Yor fighting a Darth Vader-wannabe while being attacked by pterodactyls and lasers, really makes me yearn for the days of, um, yore.

● Everyone's going crazy remaking other holiday slashers like MY BLOODY VALENTINE, HALLOWEEN and FRIDAY THE 13TH—well what about NEW YEAR'S EVIL? Not only do you have the timeliness of New Year's, but a killer in a creepy smiley-face mask slaughtering New Wave punks, and, in one intriguing scene, hanging a chick by her neck with a chain from underneath an elevator. May all those other lame killers be forgot!

● Charles B. Peirce is paid adequate tribute to with a trio of his rural exploitation pics: rednecks take on Bigfoot in THE LEGEND OF BOGGY CREEK, rednecks take on a serial killer with a cloth bag on his head THE TOWN THE DREADED SUNDOWN and GRAY EAGLE, which doesn't have rednecks, but redskins, and by that, I mean Native Americans. (And I can say that because I am a member of the Choctaw tribe. Honky.)

● In the year 1998, America runs out of “gas, oil and cash”, causing us to elect John Ritter. Well, it's only ten years off, but the all-star comedy AMERICATHON proposes that, to raise cash, the country holds a telethon where Meat Loaf fights an automobile. Elvis Costello and Harvey Korman are in there too, as well they should be. Directed by Neal Israel, who went on to “write” POLICE ACADEMY.

● It's hard to believe Robby Benson was such a box-office draw. It's even hard to believe that in DIE LAUGHING, where he plays a musician who is on the run from the mob and the law over a misunderstanding with a capucine monkey...hey, wait a minute—I get it now! I do want to see this!

● In a story that was ripped from today's headlines, and by today's headlines I mean an episode of THE DUKES OF HAZZARD, Peter Fonda takes on strip-miners who are in bed with the corrupt law, who are out to destroy his farm in FIGHTING MAD.

● So, I'm watching the trailer for MOVING VIOLATION, what appears to be a mediocre redneck sheriff/revenge drama, but am I crazy for thinking that Kay Lenz was kinda hot in the 70s? Anyone?

● Richard Burton makes an incredibly unconvincing action hero, teaming with OJ Simpson to take on the KKK in the racially-charged THE KLANSMEN.

● I'm all for disaster films, but BLACKOUT, with it's tagline “The night the power failed!”, based on the 1977 New York blackout and starring Robert Carridine, is probably the weakest of the bunch. What was next? SHATTERED GLASS, “The day the baseball broke my window!” or FOUNDATION!, “When the support beams could no longer support the house, Hell was let loose at roughly six inches a day!”

42ND STREET FOREVER VOL. 3 review

We'll Put a Boot in Your Ass: 02.02.09

Welcome to We'll Put a Boot in Your Ass, my daily snapshot at what makes America the greatest country on the planet. Up yours, other countries!



Special thanks to Austin's favorite son, Johnny Wise, for this submission!!! Have you got a "We'll Put a Boot in Your Ass" submission? Send 'em over to orcho5000@hotmail.com!!! Do it for liberty!