Those badass posters for THE HOUSE OF THE DEVIL? Somebody finally wrote about them in-depth.

And that headline is indeed self-attacking.

A couple weeks back, I linked to a Critics Notebook feature I put together on Ti West’s The House of the Devil, for which I chatted with the writer-director for an engaging, fun hour-or-so in mid-October. One of the talking points we hit upon that, sadly, didn’t have room to breathe in the feature was the film’s amazing series of posters, all vintage without looking cheesy; just perfect, frankly. West had some pretty interesting things to say about this subject, but the feature was inflating at ludicrous speed and, in the end, I felt the poster issue got lost in the overall shuffle. 

Before first seeing the film, my fear was that the posters would ultimately be better than the film itself, but, fortunately, The House of the Devil lives up to the promise. 

Sean Fennessey, my fellow movie-loving music journalist, has fortunately taken care of this issue, in his New York/Vulture piece that surfaced today. Titled “Neil Kellerhouse on The House of the Devil’s Artsy, Retro Posters,” it’s a quick, entertaining read, where Kellerhouse explains the creative process behind five of the key posters, including my personal favorite; this one instantly gave (and still gives) me a Lucio Fulci vibe for a few different reasons:

I rarely link to stories of this variety here, but this one seems like a no-brainer. Give it a look, it’s a job well done (and something I wish I would have pitched around myself): 

NY Mag/Vulture: The House of the Devil posters

After the jump, I’ve posted the part of my Ti West interview where we discussed these posters; I figure, might as well let these quotes lives now, right?:

THE ASSESSMENT: THE BOX (2009)

Richard Kelly’s The Box was a hard one to pin down, as far as reactions go. The positives of the film are pretty fun, so much so that I’m contemplating a second theater viewing. Which probably won’t happen, due to this week’s full slate of evening screenings (The Road tonight, for the win). But the fact that part of me wants to pay money to see this one again is fascinating for self, because there’s so much wrong within Kelly’s third feature. Plot holes, excessive randomness. High-concept sci-fi gobbledygook for no good reason. 

While it’s trampoline-leaps better than his Southland Tales, The Box still pales in comparison to Donnie Darko. Kelly’s career is the Hollywood equivalent to Raekwon; The Box is better than the Chef’s The Lex Diamond Story, now, but the parallel still works. Perhaps Kelly’s next film will be his triumphant return to greatness, a la Only Built for Cuban Linx 2.

Today, though, it’s all about The Box.

For my deeper thoughts, head on over to:

Critics Notebook: THE BOX (2009)

HIGH TENSION’s “Marie” (as well as MARTYRS’s Mylene Jampanoi) lands a big one….

For all of the abuse that Alexandre Aja’s High Tension receives over its unimaginative twist ending, it’s still tough to deny the film greatness, at least in the realm of horror cinema. Of the last decade, specifically. The 20-or-so minute stretch in the house once the killer drops by is intense enough to treat your eyes like our favorite droog Alex in his A Clockwork Orange experimental treatment. And even after that aforementioned twist, Aja totally redeems himself with the most insane and blood-drenched chainsaw massacre of our time. 

So cut the film some slack, would you?

Also worth acclaim in the respect of High Tension is lead actress Cecile de France. The Belgian actress owns the picture, with her subtle sexiness, hard edge and wonderful facial reactions. I’ve been hoping to see her in more films after the fact, but, sadly, that hasn’t happened. There was that dreadful Jackie Chan flick Around the World in 80 Days (2004), but all signs are pointing me having never seen that one by my dying day. de France’s next role, however, is one I’ll totally rush to—–she’s just signed on for a lead role in Clint Eastwood’s Hereafter, a “what happens after death?” multiple character study that’s to be anchored by Matt Damon’s “psychic”; de France will play a French journalist who has a near-death go-round. 

Eastwood’s films always garner heaps of attention, and deservedly so; and then you have Damon, one of my favorite actors, and a guy who knows quality screenplays like 50 Cent knows great production. As a fan of Cecile de France based solely off of High Tension, this is great news. Her second chance to show us what she’s got on a large scale is long overdue.

Now, how about casting Inside’s gorgeous and equally talented Alysson Paradis in a Hollywood prestige flick? She’s Johnny Depp’s sister-in-law, for hell’s sake. Surely we can make this one happen, as well. 

UPDATE: How did I not catch this earlier? After reading this Cecile de France news on a different website just now, I’ve noticed that Eastwood has also cast Mylene Jampanoi, one of the two dynamite leads in Pascal Laugier’s Martyrs. The leads from both High Tension and Martyrs?! Let me find out that Clint Eastwood is up on the best of modern-day French horror cinema. This is all coincidental, of course (a result of these ladies’ agents being on their grind), but it’s cool to envision Dirty Harry rewinding scenes from Inside, a la yours truly. 

Cecile de France news spotted over at: Variety

A dually beneficial new poster…..

1) I’m rather excited for The Wolfman, have been since it was first announced, and the latest trailer is a winner, to me, and 2) Emily Blunt is a stunner. 3) Dropping this poster on the blog here is a cheap way to update the site while I wrap my head around a slew of ideas and other mental gobbledygook. 

Second new poster, after the jump:

UNEDITED JOURNAL/ESSAY: Between Rap & A Hard Place

In late August, I wrote a brain-in-gear essay called “Between Rap & a Hard Place,” essentially a self-dissection into how easy it’ll be to make my mark in the film coverage world, having been so immersed in the ‘hip-hop journalism’ sect for nearly six years now. It was to be a feature guest blog on a renown journalist’s own WordPress realm, a now-dead but once-fruitful place where young journalists (whether practicing or aspiring) could learn and casual visitors could be entertained. I was quite honored to be given the go-head for a guest blog, and I took it seriously. Then, the vet writer took a blogging hiatus, and then promptly killed the site to concentrate on a book. Can’t blame her, at all.

Still, I put some work into the guest blog, so I don’t want it to die in the oblivion of Yahoo email. Thus, I’m posting it here, the raw, unedited (and I stress “unedited”) essay that I sent in on August 27. Some of the references are now a bit dated, understandably. 

Full essay, after the jump:

The Obligatory Rachel Nichols Post

There’s a legitimate reason for this, I swear.

Basically, a random picture of Ms. Nichols that I used for a “me casting the potential Baywatch movie” post is the highest view-earner in my humble blog’s history. Like, absolutely crushes the post competition, to awe-inspiring degrees. A pic of Mila Kunis has given Nichols some opposition, but, in the end, G.I. Joe’s “Scarlett” is tops. “Sex sells,” indeed. So, obviously, this Rachel Nichols picture-show is all about getting more and more views. 

Shameless? Who, me? 

More pics, once you follow the jump:

Movie-related news in the sense of “The best creature feature that’s yet to be made”

What a creature in a David Lynch nature film might look like…… This is a real picture, by the way. Visit the news link below for proof. A hairless bear…..

Original news story: Daily Mail UK: “Who’s taken my fur coat?”

More pics, after the jump:

This shouldn’t piss me off as much as it is, but what can I do, right?

File this one under “Fuck Outta Here.”

Katie Featherston, the female half of Paranormal Activity’s sudden stars-on-the-rise cast, starred in another little horror film called Walking Distance. While its buzz isn’t even a morsel of what Paranormal Activity’s was before the mainstream knew about, Walking Distance has been popping up on the various horror sites recently, no doubt a result of Featherston’s presence. The film is about a quaint town that harbors some (probably) supernatural secret, and how that hidden evil wreaks H-E-double-sticks on its residents. Or something to that effect; the film’s plot isn’t important right now. It’s a mute point.

The matter at hand is this…. Today, news came out that the film’s title has been changed to Experimental Activity. Seriously. As the president of Showcase Entertainment (the company that’ll distribute the film), David Jackson, puts it, “Clearly having the fastest-rising star in the business is a feather in the cap, but we feel the film stands on its own as a cool psychological thriller.” Oh, really? So the title change isn’t simply a blatant jack-off of Featherston’s current close-to-$100-million smash? 

Just shameful. And, laughable. at least. Walking Distance (which I’ll keep calling the film until somebody uses physicality to make me do otherwise) is now like a batter standing on the side of home-plate, his arms tied behind his back as a Cliff Lee curveball comes his way. I won’t write it off just yet (that’d be unfair), but the stink of lameness will be tough to wipe away.

News spotted over at: Shock Til You Drop

THE ASSESSMENT: THE FOURTH KIND (2009)

The Fourth Kind is a pretty odd bird. My opinion has been battling with itself over the film, and it’s pretty uncomfortable. On one hand, this “is it real?” (umm, ‘No’ is my guess) alien abduction flick comes with a few undeniably disturbing moments, scenes that would leave me loving the film as a whole in most, if not all, other cases. But The Fourth Kind just has so much that’s frustrating and off-putting in its presentation that I can’t give it the Yay. 

For more on my Nay, head over to Critics Notebook:

Critics Notebook: THE FOURTH KIND (2009)

The PARANORMAL ACTIVITY Freight Train keeps on chugging…..

I must say, all of the love and bank this film has amassed has me feeling prit-ty, prit-ty, prit-ty…..pretty good [trademark, Larry David]. As it does, I’m sure, for every other longtime horror head who has spent years on end digging through genre websites for those little flicks-that-could-if-one-of-the-dumbass-major-studios-would-wake-the-hell-up. 

Oddly enough, though, I’m sitting here more excited to read that excerpt from Uncle Stevie’s Under the Dome than I am the cover story. What else can be said about Paranormal Activity at this point, really? The cover itself is the real victory here.

Amber Heard is an actress, no?

And she was in both Zombieland and The Stepfather recently (one really good, one not so much). So these totally belong on this blog, then. You’ve been disclaimed. [From her new FHM shoot]

Full-size pics, after the jump:

SCENES OF MINE: Original ending to PARANORMAL ACTIVITY (2009)

**As expected, the clip was promptly excommunicated from Youtube. So much for that. But, basically, Katie comes back upstairs into the bedroom after Micah runs down to see why she’s screaming; she sits alongside the bed, in a daze, and then a couple of fuzz-members (cops) come up the staircase. Katie approaches them, and the fuzz, seeing the blood on her shirt and no doubt having scoped Micah’s corpse in the living room, fire rounds into her. The end.

Astonishingly, I’ve yet to find someone who outright hates Paranormal Activity; sure, a handful of folks have nitpicks and problems, but no one seems to hate the film. Which is pretty incredible, frankly. I’ve already stated my thumbs-up piece about the film here, so there’s no need for any pathos today. Rather, I want to show all of you heads out there that have pushed the little $11,000 film into the $60-mil-plus range how writer/director Oren Peli originally concluded the film, since the main qualm I’ve heard has been, “That final Boo! shot is corny as fuck.” And I agree, it is borderline cheesy, and does deflate the wonderful creepiness of the film’s final section.

After the jump, you’ll find one of the film’s two original ending. Make your own judgment about its merit, whether it’s better/worse than the theatrical one, etc.; as for my opinion, I’m opting for that over this:

Ti West on the awesome THE HOUSE OF THE DEVIL

There’s a great little horror flick opening this weekend that I wish could generate the Paranormal Activity-level hype, but that won’t happen. A crying shame, though, because Ti West’s The House of the Devil has an incredible amount of replay value. I’ve watched it three time through my DVD screener over the last couple of weeks, and, if my weekend schedule permits, I’ll catch it on a bigger screen. It’s being dubbed into the same designation as films like Hatchet and My Bloody Valentine 3-D, intentionally-made throwbacks to 1980s-era horror, but in this case that label is a bit unfair; West’s film (about a money-hungry babysitter’s unexpected encounter with Satanism) literally feels like a film made 20-some-odd years ago, right down to the smallest production design details (old Coca Cola cups….check).

For Critics Notebook, I chatted with West about the film and other horror/cinema head areas of interest. Definitely one of my favorites interviews in close memory; the guy has an engaging motormouth, giving answers you know he’s said in one form or another during his recent press run with the vigor of a first-time interview. He’s gotten somewhat of a bad wrap lately, due to some drama over his self-imposed exiting of Cabin Fever 2: Spring Fever, with reports calling him everything from “arrogant” to a basic prima donna. During our discussion, though, that couldn’t have been further from the truth. After the jump, I’ve posted his post-game thoughts about that Cabin Fever 2 dilemma; see for yourself if he sounds bitchy or not.

Here’s the link to my kind-of-epic-in-length Critics Notebook feature on Mr. West:

Ti West on THE HOUSE OF THE DEVIL

After the jump, parts of the interview that didn’t make the CN piece:

Shock(ed Me) TV: MTV’S MY SUPER PSYCHO SWEET SIXTEEN

 

It’d be a waste of time and energy for me to sit here and type about how much I detest MTV’s numbifying My Super Sweet 16; how the show broadcasts everything that’s wrong about rich kids, while people defend it as some sort of “aspiring to be” fantasy for middle-to-lower class teens. Pure nonsense, that stance will always be. There’s an audience for the program, clearly, so I’ve learned to accept that it’s there and move on; I just simply never watch. And that’s worked well enough.

The idea of MTV somewhat lampooing the show in a made-for-TV horror film, timed for Halloween, hadn’t seemed like a total whopper of an idea, either. Slightly more optimistic, but not by leaps. Thing is, watching some pissed-off adult or outcast high school student cut his or her way through the cool kids is one-note, and would lose its appeal after the second body drops. And that’s precisely what I was expecting from My Super Psycho Sweet Sixteen, which aired last night. Utterly-hokey title put to the side, MTV’s tailor-made slasher had one other huge strike against it from second one—-the inability to go hard-R, due to the network’s always-gonna-be-there censorship restrictions. I went in thinking, Here comes an even-tamer version of that painful Prom Night remake.  

I must say, this is one instance of pie-in-the-face that I’m not mad at; My Super Psycho Sweet Sixteen is, and I’m dead-serious, really good. Well-developed, nicely-acted. Handled with an applaudable appreciation for the horror gods, and intelligent enough to honor the teen-movie standards without succumbing to them. Jacob Gentry, the film’s director, is coming off of 2007’s tiny-budget gem The Signal (of which he was one of three filmmakers), and this one proves the guy’s really got it. The kill sequences push the censors to their limit, hardcore and sans goofy spirit. They’re mean as hell. A nice counter to the self-aware energy palpable whenever the cliche teen stock characters run the show, all familiar types (the weird loner girl; her nerdy guy friend; the bitchy popular girl; the sensitive jock) given clever tweaks to make them all register.

Madison, the school’s ice-queen/future prom queen (played with Rachel-Macadams-in-Mean-Girls quality by Julianna Guill), talks her money-bags father into having her Sweet 16 bash at the abandoned Roller Dome, a local skating rink that was the scene of a gory killing spree 10 years prior. The rink’s demented owner lashed out at the spoiled douchebags that didn’t respect his venue, and his final flatlining-acts were witnessed by not-even-10-year-old daughter, Skyy. Back in Madison’s present, Skyy (Lauren McKnight, in a turn I hope brings her much more work) is the borderline-Goth chick with a heart of gold, and she’s suddenly striking up a romance with Madison’s stud ex, Brigg (notice the stereotypical names “Madison” and “Brigg”). As all of this teenage angst and complexity is underway, so is the reemergence of Skyy’s insane daddy, whose body was never found after a car acciden that prevented his jail-time. So when it’s time to party for Madison’s big night, the corpse tally ticks and tocks.

To say that I’m surprised by how much I dug My Super Psycho Sweet Sixteen is more of an understatement than “Cirque de Freak looks downright boring.” [Continued after the jump]

SCENES OF MINE: MARTIN (1977)

I finally earned my complete George A. Romero fanboy stripes last night. You’d think that years of constant re-watching of his entire Dead/zombie films would be enough to give me pride, but that was sadly not the case. Romero, the independent-minded filmmaking legend, has a cluster of non-zombie flicks that are mostly regarded as unheralded classics. Cult favorites, if you will. The Crazies (1973) is one that I’ve long admired, but other than that one I’d inexplicably slacked off on seeing his other works.

The reconciler that I am, I’ve put the remainder of his filmography into the top five of my Netflix Queue, and last night the Romero film fest kicked off with 1977’s Martin, a film that many consider to be the man’s best. A tall order, considering this is the guy responsible for the original Night of the Living Dead (1968) and Dawn of the Dead (1978), two undeniable horror masterpieces. Romero himself has even said that Martin is his personal favorite of his movies, which explains why I made it the first one on my list.

 

The verdict: strange with great mood, but not entirely effective for me. There’s a lot of great things going on in Martin; for one, the way Romero deconstructs the entire vampire/Nosferatu mythology is fascinating. The title character is a quiet, socially-awkward 20-year-old with a penchant for draining the blood of women, after drugging them to sleep. His older uncle represents the Van Helsing character, the skeptic who believes Martin to be Dracula himself. It’s confirmed, in more words or less, that Martin is indeed a bloodsucker, though he constantly denies it to others. It’s just that, the usual defenses against vampires are futile around him——garlic has no effect, he’s visible in mirrors, and religious crosses are yawned at.

What Martin lacks is a constant thread, though, espcially toward the end. The final 15 minutes feel like a loose string of scenes edited together, leading up to a predictable (but thankfully gory and hardcore) last shot that comes out of left field. The film, at times, seems more like a collection of Romero’s ideas rather than a fleshed-out narrative; his outline, or treatment, instead of a full-on script. His ideas are strong on their own, the sum of a film’s part being greater than its whole.

Romero is such a great master of tension, though, that Martin never falls from interest. The picture has a steady macabre that’s forceful, a lingering bleakness rising shotgun alongside the overpowering notion that Martin can turn ghoulish serial killer at any moment, which is a testament to the performance of actor John Amplas. The best of the film’s stalk-and-drain sequences it the reason for this post, a Scene of Mine. Where Martin breaks into an attractive local woman’s home, expecting to only see and murder her, but an unanticipated booty call of her’s spoils the fun. Well, adds to it, actually. You’ll have to fast-forward a bit through the first Youtube clip, and continue at the start of the second. [Scene, in two parts, after the jump]:

THE ASSESSMENT: LAW ABIDING CITIZEN (2009)

In less than 24 hours, my one-man consensus (made up of inner thoughts and schizophrenic debates) flip-flopped on this one, Law Abiding Citizen. Initially, I wasn’t all that mad at the film; I was entertained, though not stimulated in any way, nor was I expecting to be, though. The problem areas were rather visible, but I was willing to give it a pass…..until this afternoon, when hours of post-game pondering led me to realize that the bad in this Jamie Foxx vs. Gerard Butler endeavor suffocates the sporadic good.

For an expansion of this thought, head on over to my Critics Notebook review:

Critics Notebook: LAW ABIDING CITIZEN (2009)

Yet another marvelous poster for Ti West’s THE HOUSE OF THE DEVIL

Best movie marketing campaign of the year? If not the, it’s certainly in the upper echelon. Doesn’t hurt that the film itself meets the expectations; I’ve watched it on screener DVD twice, a third being mentally scheduled. It really is something special. More on it to come…..but, for now:

In 2007, we had “I drink your milkshake”; two years later, behold….”Chaos reigns.”

The best part about this Youtube clip from Lars Von Trier’s Antichrist is that, the moment this scene ended, I sat in the Walter Reade Theater thinking to myself, “God, I hope this ends up on Youtube.” A thought that materialized as the majority of my fellow press members in attendance laughed out loud, understandably. Only two weeks later, my hopes have been met. There’s an obvious downside to this, though, and it’s that without the film’s complete batshit context, this nine-second excerpt feels like pure comedy. In Antichrist, it’s played serious as cancer, for better or worse. To attempt to explain what’s going on here would simply waste finger power; it’s only nine second of your day, so check it out. If you’re anything like me, this will leave you starving for the entirety of Antichrist. Hell, I’ve already seen the film and this clip has me itching to give the film another go-through. “Chaos reigns” after the jump:

Let’s Bore Matt to Death (2009)

It’s never a good sign when you find yourself fast-forwarding through a movie out of a double-sided necessity to simply finish the thing and get to the good stuff much quicker. I rarely do this; if I’ve made effort enough to start watching a film, no matter how awful it is, I might as well hang tight. A similar reasoning behind not walking out of movies I’ve paid $12 to see theaters; to date, I’ve only prematurely exited stage right three times (Freddy Got Fingered, Corky Romano, and P2), and I wasn’t proud of myself in any of the cases. Why I actually dropped bucks on the first two, I’ll never know.

Early last week, during my daily ritual of scouring through various horror websites in hopes of stumbling across some old forgotten gem that Netflix can so kindly bless me with, the title Let’s Scare Jessica to Death surfaced somewhere, though I’m remiss to recall which URL exactly. Doesn’t matter, really; I’m thinking it was somehow in relation to Ti West’s new The House of the Devil, which I have a screener DVD of, that I watched, and love(d) every second (but more on that film later this week). Back to Let’s Scare Jessica to Death, a wonderfully-intriguing name for a film, and when I noticed that it was made in 1971, I was even more compelled. Obscure ’70s horror hardly ever disappoints, case in point Race with the Devil. Without even reading as much as a two-sentence synopsis, I bumped Jessica to the top of my Netflix.

I’m currently wiping the final splothces of pie off of my cheeks. Continued after the jump:

Official trailer for the Terry Gilliam/Heath Ledger mindfuck THE IMAGINARIUM OF DOCTOR PARNASSUS

 

Terry Gilliam

Admittedly, I’ve been late to the Terry Gilliam train, as far as his work as a director. Growing up, my pops drilled the best of Monty Python into my head on a daily basis, though it didn’t take long for a pre-teenage me to appreciate the British comedy troop’s brilliance. And now that I’m older and smarter,more able to grasp their irreverence, Monty Python’s Flying Circus is even funnier. All I knew for years, though, was that Gilliam was part of the never-expected Spanish Inquisition, and that he was responsible for the show’s great animated title card. That he’s been directing bizarre and magical films for decades didn’t register until a couple years back, when I happened across 12 Monkeys on cable, and was left dizzied. Since then, I’ve caught up with Brazil (amazing) and Baron Manchausen (pretty good, but didn’t click totally with me), with certain plans to run through his entire repertoire by the time Christmas rolls around.

Why Christmas? That’s when Gilliam’s latest, The Imaginarium of Doctor Parnassus, opens. Which you’ve no doubt heard of simply because it’s the storied final film starring Heath Ledger, the one he was in the midst of at the time of his death last January. And that—-since his character travels through alternate realities—-Gilliam was able to incorporate Johnny Depp, Colin Farrell, and Jude Law into his role to complete the picture; all three of whom signed on out of the simple respect for Ledger (though their affection for Gilliam is no doubt strong, as well).

There’s been a couple unofficial trailers floating around, and tons of stills and festival reviews (largely positive, but not overwhelmingly so), but now we have the legit trailer, and it looks equal parts gorgeous and batshit. Not exactly sure what to make of Doctor Parnassus just yet, but that’s not to say that I’m unexcited. The exact opposite. I’m highly intrigued, more so than before. Trailer after the jump:

DVD WARNING: Jack Ketchum’s OFFSPRING should’ve remained a book only

If you’ve never read any of Jack Ketchum’s novels, I strongly advise that you do so, even if you’re not the type to enjoy hardcore storytelling about murder and depravity. The thing about Ketchum’s books that I love so much is the consistency, how he never submits to the temptations of unnecessary dark comedy; he goes for the jugular without ever flinching. And always with a writing style that’s much more eloquent than you’d stereotypically expect from stories that’d make the weak-willed feel queasy and shaken. He covers the horrors of everyday life; no monsters (well, She Wakes is his sole creature text, so there’s one exception) or ghosts, but real people doing very bad things, all with a subtext that fills their actions with drawn-out motives, whether acceptable or deplorable in explanation.

For those who aren’t so keen on horror fiction, I’d recommend Ketchum’s Red as a good gateway drug into his work. The tale of an old man who watches his beloved dog killed before his eyes, and the retribution he single-handedly brings forth, is the softest of the author’s catalog that I’ve read, and it proves that the guy could be one hell of a dramatic scribe if he wasn’t such a sick bastard underneath the skin. Not that I’m complaining about that. If he weren’t so demented, I would’ve never experienced the amazing The Lost, Ketchum’s epic Hannibal Lecter-ish character study of punk teenager with homicidal tendencies; or the even crueler two-book arch of Off Season and Offspring, the sprawling two-parter about a clan of feral children living in a cave out in the woods, when they’re not driving hatchets into residents’ skulls and eating their flesh. 

Stephen King, another writer I carry the torch for, is a known fan of Ketchum’s, and the inkling to draw parallels between their respective novels is always there, but hardly fair. They’re two totally different styles of horror, both serving its own purpose nicely. One commonality between King and Ketchum, though, is the hit-or-miss quality of films based on their books. We all know the spotty quality of King-based films—–for every The Mist and The Shawshank Redemption (both made by Frank Darabont, who should be the only guy allowed near King’s property at this point), there’s The Lawnmower Man, or (*gasp!*) Thinner. As for Ketchum, there’s only been four books-to-films bearing his name, and three of them (The Lost, The Girl Next Door, Red) aren’t half bad. Red is the best of the lot, but the other two, while hindered by some poor acting and foolish omissions from their on-page source material, get enough to right to earn passes.  

The fourth, the newly-released straight-to-DVD Offspring, is on the total opposite end of the spectrum. It’s every Ketchum fans worst thoughts come true, the in-mind floating notions that Ketchum’s hardest fare is virtually unfilmable.

THE ASSESSMENT: COUPLES RETREAT (2009)

Couples Retreat, an unfortunate waste of nearly two hours. A cheery film that looks like it was a blast to make, but everything is lost in the translation. Proof that Vince Vaughn has gone the downhill way of Will Ferrell, only Vaughn is without any recent Step Brothers-quality fare to partially salvage the wreckage; Four Christmases is only mediocre when put next to Fred Claus.

You get the hint—–I’m not a fan of this one. But I have legitimate reasons, all of which are expressed in my piece over at Critics Notebook, why don’t cha?:

Critics Notebook: COUPLES RETREAT (2009)

Why not, right?

THE ASSESSMENT: AN EDUCATION (2009)

See, I’m more than just a horror guy, or a movie lover compelled to focus on the sickest of flicks. The inclination to enjoy some high-brow cinema is always present, as is the softer side that privately loves a good “teenager discovers his or herself” film; when the lead is a female, included. Such as An Education (opening in limited release this Friday, October 9), surely one of the best of this kind to come around in ages, and a little charmer that should make the rounds come awards season. Mostly for its dynamite star Carey Mulligan, who’s hopefully a lock for a Best Actress nomination. She’s a knockout in this one, the best part of an altogether A-grade picture.

To show that I’m well-rounded in my coverage, here’s my review of An Education, over at Critics Notebook:

Critics Notebook — AN EDUCATION (2009)

THE ASSESSMENT: TRICK ‘R TREAT (DVD; 2009)

It’s been nearly two years since the night of extreme disappointment, when a free advance screening of Michael Dougherty’s Trick ‘r Treat imploded. At least for me. Scheduled for 7pm; I arrive at the miniscule Bowery-area theater around 6:15pm, not thinking that the event would be all that swamped. It’s a little-known horror film that has been abused and left for dead by Warner Bros. since October ‘07; who else but the few people logging on to Fangoria’s website knew about this screening? Apparently, an additional 400 people, waiting outside on line over an hour early for a venue that only seats 150 heads.

Needless to say, I was shut out. And bitter as all hell.

A few nights ago, I picked Trick ‘r Treat up on DVD, after a two-year waiting process to see the damn movie. And you know what? It met damn near every expectation I’ve had for it, some even unrealistic, frankly. I’m a fiend for horror anthology films, and, I’m happy to say, this one ranks high on the list. Over at Critics Notebook, I’ve gone in (in a positive way):

Critics Notebook — TRICK ‘R TREAT (DVD; 2009)

Better 160 years late than never……

Since the first grade, I’ve been a huge admirer of Edgar Allen Poe’s writing (obviously…. Who isn’t, really?). There was this Scholastic Book Fair held in the library of St. Catharine’s grammar school, which I bumrushed with the $30 that my parents forked over as a gift. I was only a second-grader; $30 equaled fat pockets back then. As long as I didn’t spend any of their cash to buy extra milk cartons and spent it only on reading materials, the ‘rents were more than pleased. I spent damn near all of that 30-spot, but the only book I can remember picking up that day was a compilation of Edgar Allen Poe’s work. Abridged for grade school eyes, naturally. After my first read-through, I was hooked. So much so that I then sought out a biography on the guy. All before I turned the age 10, mind you.

With a backstory like that to my name, it should come as no shock that this news story interests the hell out of me. I’ll copy and paste the piece in its entirety, rather than rehash it in my own words. Basically, as a teaser, Poe is finally receiving a proper funeral 160 years after a lack of public awareness to his death resulted in a single-digit number of attendees at his actual casket sendoff. Then, his tombstone was obliterated in a trail derailment before it could ever reach his grave. For his long-overdue ceremony won’t be his real corpse (I hope you’d know that without me typing it), but a to-the-smallest-detail dummy. Certainly creepy, but also pretty badass, if you think about it like I am. Full story after the jump: