Hello my sketch-loving friends. It’s been a long, long time, and for that, I apologize.  Moving in different directions often means forgetting where your base starting line is, but I’ve been spending some time retracing my steps.

After having forgotten about it’s now two-month old theatrical release date, I took in the creepy, Frankenstein-ish latest work of director Vincenzo Natali, Splice, over the weekend, and actually enjoyed it. But probably not for the reasons you’d expect.

We all know the storyline by now – mega-scientists Clive Nicoli (Adrien Brody) and Elsa Kast (Sarah Polley) achieve fame by successfully splicing together the DNA of different animals to create incredible new hybrid animals (for the sole purpose of farming their proteins to help eliminate modern diseases).  Upon their success in creating Fred and Ginger, male and female chicken-nugget-resembling life forms that do little more than slide around like slugs, their gene-splicing efforts are tabled while their employer seeks to harvest the creatures’ proteins to generate a new product line of medicines.  This does not bode well for the pair, who are insistent on taking their project to the next step – by introducing human DNA into their little kiddie gene pool.

Which they do, anyway, with little regard to the powers-that-be or their own morality.

Eventually, after several near-misses and would-be terminations, Elsa and Clive are left with Dren, a humanoid creature with bird-like legs, a tail, pointed tongue and a very, very human-like upper body (she’s only got four fingers, although one does happen to be an opposable thumb).

As Dren ages (rapidly, or else we wouldn’t have the film, conveniently), her intelligence and adaptability become quite apparent to Elsa, who, despite never having wanted children, seems to take on an instinctive, mother-like role to Dren.

But just because one has a maternal instinct does not necessarily mean they are cut out for motherhood, as Elsa’s past and present soon dictate.  Having grown up emotionally abused by her own mother, apparently (we’re not privy to any further detail on that), we watch as Elsa’s loving instinct quickly sours when it comes to Dren (we later learn that Elsa used her own DNA as the human sample to create Dren).

I won’t go on and on about the whole ‘morality’ debate involved in the film, as I find it hypocritical – with the myriad of morality issues facing society today, ‘playing God’ doesn’t seem like something that should bear more weight than murder, muggings, divorce, etc.  We’ve got bigger fish to fry on the morality front.

But there’s a whole psychological aspect of the film that I found much more interesting – the dynamic between Elsa and her late mother, the lack of details of that relationship, and the impact it’s had on Elsa in her adult life.  Clearly her mother was abusive in some way – which was, to me, the much more interesting aspect of the story – and Elsa is left to try and sort through her instinctual desire to mother this creature, and the psychological and biological impact of perpetuating her mother’s behaviors with Dren – ultimately resulting in the dissolution of Clive’s apprehension of Dren as he embraces a paternal role.

The film is by far more so a sci-fi fantasy than a horror flick – which is clear in that the viewer has no choice but to accept that Adrien Brody could ever possess the intelligence to actually be such a scientist – and putting the moral debate aside, makes for a highly entertaining couple of hours.  I do smell a sequel in the making, though Natali has certainly left himself an out (spoiler alert).

Splice (2010) Movie Trailer

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After an overly-long holiday hiatus, it’s time once again to settle in for a soirée of sketchy goodness.  January in New England means grey skies and a general feeling of discontent – perfect zombie weather.  This week, my sketch-loving cohorts, I bring you Andrew Currie’s 2006 tale of a boy and his pet (zombie, that is), Fido.

K’Sun Ray stars in this nostalgic yarn as Timmy, the son of a death-obsessed father and a status-crazy mother, who is but a young boy trying to grow and survive in a post-war society. A society whose deceased have been turned into flesh-eating zombies thanks to a strange radiation from space.  This radiation still exists in many areas and poses a constant threat to society, as all those who die after the original contamination turn into the undead. In order to survive in a normal fashion, the towns have been fenced in with the help of a governing corporation.

Zomcom is an all-empowering corporation which has developed the technology to not only keep the zombie population at bay, but even to domesticate the animated corpses – by using a collar which eliminates their natural instinct to consume human flesh.   Zomcom is also the law, rounding up those who perform illegal funerals (“Head coffin, please”) and are in possession of unregistered zombies.

A jump-rope makes a great makeshift leash for your zombie.

When the new head of security for Zomcom moves in next door, complete with family and six domesticated zombies, Timmy’s mother decides it’s time for their family to get a zombie as well – despite father Bill’s utter hatred for the undead.  Timmy forms a bond with his zombie, whom he’s lovingly named Fido, after much hesitation.  After all, he was raised to despise zombies as well – but Fido easily wins him over after a run-in with the local bullies.

Timmy’s picture-perfect life soon turns sour, as a device malfunction causes Fido to temporarily revert to his flesh-eating ways.  This doesn’t deter Timmy – oh, no – his bond with his undead friend is far too strong to let murder come in the way.  Covering his friend’s tracks, they try to move on with their…lives?

Fido is set in a strange, 1950′s-era alternate universe, giving it a strange, Shaun of the Dead meets Pleasantville feeling. Hilary ensues as Timmy’s mother, clearly not receiving the tender loving attention she craves from her emotionless husband, seems to form a romantic bond with Fido.  Who doesn’t want a little affection now and again, even if it’s from a corpse?

Proper funerals attract the crowds.

This sketchy bit of brilliance has been on my radar for some time now, and only now am I kicking myself for not partaking sooner.  I laughed, I cried (well, mainly from laughing), and I truly enjoyed this heartwarming story of love and zombies.  Oh, and did I mention that Fido is played by none other than Billy Connolly? Yeah. That’s right.

And now, kiddies, I leave you with this week’s Sunday Morning Sketch Cinema Quote of the Week:

Bill Robinson: “My father tried to eat me. I don’t remember trying to eat Timmy.”

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It’s Christmas time again, and what better way to celebrate than with David Steiman’s spirited tale of the real story of good ol’ Santa Claus?  This week, good little boys and girls, in honor of the overflow of holiday spirit which is running amok within me, I bring you a special, mid-week Holiday version of Sunday Morning Sketch Cinema, featuring the 2005 instant holiday classic, Santa’s Slay.

A charming spin on the classic tale of old Saint Nick, David Steiman’s holiday horror fest spins a yarn of how Santa Claus came to be.  Far from the cheery, rosy-cheeked, happy old man we’ve all been raised to know, this film instead tells us of a thousand-year old bet between one of God’s angels and Satan’s son (played impeccably by Bill Goldberg), Santa.  Having lost the bet, Santa has spent the last 1,000 years being kind and generous to children everywhere, bringing yuletide gifts year after year.

Oh, did I mention Satan’s loss was endured during a curling match? Yep. Curling. Enjoy the ‘Rudolph the Red Nose Reindeer’-esque clay-mation telling of such match.

Unfortunately for the township of Hell, the clock has run out on Santa’s thousand-year punishment, and he has certainly been keeping track of time.  He’s returned with a vengeance, ready to reap massive amounts of holiday horrors upon the masses.

Even more unfortunate for Nicholas Yuleson, he not only has to battle tasteless gifts from his family and girlfriend, but he also happens to discover (in the nick of time) that his own grandfather (portrayed perfectly by Robert Culp) is none other than the wager-making angel himself, responsible for dooming Santa to his millennium of magnanimity.

If you watch this movie for nothing else, the opening scene is more than enough of a holiday gift to keep you sufficiently enthralled with the rest of the film.  With cameos by James Caan,Fran Drescher, Chris Kattan, and Rebecca Gayheart (none of whom are spared – not even the family dog), Santa’s Slay is sure to quickly become a Christmas tradition.

Dubbed a ‘black comedy’, this movie is rife with holiday-themed slayings, tasteless word play, and the type of cinematic cheese you’ve come to expect from Sunday Morning Sketch Cinema.  Rather than tease you with plot details, I will simply leave you with Santa’s ‘naughty’ list – the official Santa’s Slay body count:

1-6: The Mason Family and their Dog, subjected to numerous fatal injuries.
7: Mrs. Talbot – Elderly Woman, run off the road by Santa.
8: Street Punk, beaten and stabbed with a candy-cane after attempting to rob Santa.
9: Strip Club Valet, eaten by Santa’s “hell-deer”.
10: Strip Club Bouncer #1, beaten, strangled, and gift-wrapped by Santa.
11: Strip Club Bouncer #2, thrown by Santa onto the bartender’s knife.
12-13: Bartender and attendee, crushed under a table by Santa.
14: Truck Driver, electrocuted by a stripper pole Santa kicks into a lamp.
15-20: The Strippers, trapped in a blaze from burning coal.
21-22: Two Children, blown up by explosive presents.
23: Mr. Green, beaten and impaled upon his menorah.
24-28: Chief Caulk and the Officers, tazered, stabbed, impaled, and generally killed by Santa.
29-33: Christmas Carolers, dispatched by a number of various wrestling moves.
34: Grandpa Yuleson, run down by Santa’s “hell-deer”.
35: Pastor Timmons, impaled after being blown out of Santa’s sleigh.

And now, my well-behaved kiddies, for this week’s SMSC quote of the week:

“Don’t use any of that political language shit with me; it’s Christmas! Wish me a merry Christmas!”

“I’m sorry, Merry Christmas Mrs. Talbot!”

“Thank you, and go fuck yourself.”

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This past weekend, my sketch-loving friends, I had searched high and low for a film sketchy enough to grace the SMSC column of Inside My Head.  Having spent the past several weeks under the spell of the B-movie genre, I decided to peek my head out of the window a bit and delve into something a bit more…current.

In my search for something a bit more frightening (since I’ve come to realize that I simply do not scare easily in my older years), I settled upon Oren Peli’s ‘found footage’, low-budget blockbuster Paranormal Activity.

Originally premiering at the Screamfest Film Festival in the U.S. on October 14, 2007, and soon shown thereafter at the Slamdance Film Festival on January 18, 2008, Paranormal Activity tells the tale of college student Katie and her live-in boyfriend, Micah, as they deal with a rather ill-spirited and increasingly dangerous demon which seems to haunt Katie wherever she goes.

I know. How cliché can a movie get?

PA surprisingly delivers all that other found-footage films seem to lack – substance. There are no tricky camera angles and heavily-implied terrifying moments (a la Blair Witch Project, which left much of the plot to the viewer’s overactive imagination rather than providing visually-spine-chilling scenes).  Instead, thanks to the couple’s desire to catch the demon on film (thus filming almost every waking moment of their lives), viewers are left just as (if not more so) terrified than the incredibly realistic characters.

For example, witnessing Micah’s borrowed Ouija board suddenly start to move then burst into flames just after the couple has left for the evening.  Scary shit.

I will say that, had I been Micah, I would have been gone ages ago – his girlfriend is clearly of the queen bitch variety, and she berates him at every turn.  Why he stuck around for demongirl, I’ll never know.  Love makes people do stupid shit.

Major kudos to Peli for bringing scary back.  With a mere $15,000 budget and a very sly marketing tactic leading up to it’s national release, this first-time director has successfully restored my hopes for any scary-movie genre.  Be sure to check out all three versions of the film, as each has a slightly different take on the same ending – all of which are horrifying and will leave you shocked and afraid to go to bed at night.

And now, my frightful friends, I leave you with this week’s Sunday Morning Sketch Cinema quote of the week.

Micah: [Trying to communicate with the entity while doing an EVP] “What is your quest? What is your favorite color?”

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I’m excited to say that last week I was reunited not only with my back-from-the-dead computer, but more importantly, with my Netflix online account.  I must confess, in the weeks in which I was separated from my dear friend, FearNet left me profoundly disappointed in its lackluster post-Halloween programming lineup.  There’s only so much Sleepaway Camp I can take.

Perusing the selection of deliciously-sketchy B-movies and cheese-laden zombie flicks, I decided to settle in for a Sketch Cinema masterpiece which is lovingly brought to us by none other than Lt. Donald Thompson himself, John Saxon.  From nightmares to zombies, I present to you Saxon’s 1987 unintentional zom-com, Zombie Death House.

Derek Keillor’s having a rough time.  He’s trying to break free from his boss, mob kingpin Vic Moretti, after being Moretti’s driver for some time.  This is tough to do, particularly as he’s conveniently servicing his boss’s girlfriend in his off-time.  Moretti solves one problem for Keillor by killing said girlfriend, though he manages to frame Keillor for the murder, sending him off to prison.

We soon learn that at said prison, Colonel Burgess (Saxon), a bio-weapons engineer, is testing out the latest in chemical warfare and is using death row inmates as his test subjects.  Everything goes swimmingly to plan until the attempted execution of a recently infected inmate – an opportunity which presents the convict with the opportunity to demonstrate his super-human, zombie-like prowess – and all hell proceeds to break loose.

A lesser director would have simply settled for a prison-based zombie apocalypse, but not our pal John Saxon – and this is why we love him.  Keillor has managed to spring most of the inmates from their cells, while the government has quarantined the entire prison, leaving guards, staff, the warden (and his wife and children), and a local hot-blonde-scientist-turned-TV-reporter all trapped within the prison grounds.

Keillor clearly sees the opportunity laid out for him, and he and his fellow inmates begin to take hostages and make demands – particularly in order to get Moretti to the prison, where his homosexual brother has been taken hostage as well.  Moretti happily obliges, eagerly awaiting the chance to point and laugh at Keillor, unaware of the quarantine on the building.  How will Moretti react once he realizes he’s trapped?

Zombie Death House is a gore-filled, laugh-a-minute mash up of cheesy-action-drama and take-it-for-what-it’s-worth violence, reminiscent of an undead version of Miami Vice. Obviously Saxon is taking his cues from his Napoli violenta days as the movie desperately tries so hard to be much bigger than it is.  Lucio Fulci you are not, Mr. Saxon, but I, for one, appreciate the effort.

And now, my little sketchy friends, I leave you with this week’s Sunday Morning Sketch Cinema quote of the week:

“Got no bananas here monkey ass. Keep walking.” (Death Row Inmate)

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It’s one thing to make an unofficial remake of a horror film.  A tribute, if you will.  The unofficial 1990 remake of Night of the Living Dead clearly demonstrated the innocent fun to be found in such remake spirit – free to include nuances and slight differences without criticism due to its ‘unofficial’ nature.

It’s when folks start to toe the line between campy tribute and flat-out cinematic disaster that my Sketch Cinema spidey-senses start a’ tingling.  Never one to resist pure horror catastrophe, I treated myself to a late-night, mid-week screening of one of the most puzzling and saddening straight-to-video films of all time.  In honor of Halloween, my sketch-loving friends, I bring you Tor A. Ramsey’s Children of the Living Dead.

Don’t let the title confuse you, however.  At no point, whatsoever, during the duration of this film were any children spawned from zombies.

That’s right. None.  Not even any zombie coitus, making-out, or heavy petting.

But there were, after all, zombies.  So we shall continue.

COTLD attempts to pick up where the bastardized version of Night of ends…cavalcades of red-necked, pickup-truck-driving, saw-off-shotgun-totin locals roaming bland-looking fields, knocking off massive amounts of the undead, one by one.  The zom-tastrophe appears to be well in control thanks to our film’s hero, ex-cop-turned-survivalist Hughes (theatrically portrayed by Tom Savini), who clearly needed an outlet for his anti-undead-acrobatic skills.

Unfortunately for Hughes (and even more unfortunate for his partner, Sheriff Randolph, who is pretty much a useless, pompous donkey), his ninja-like prowess is nothing for our leader of the undead pack, one Abbott Hayes.  Hayes was a local feller with a penchant for raping and torturing women who, after being murdered in prison, disappeared from the morgue (we suppose so, anyway – my neck still hurts from the whiplash-y time-jumping way in which the movie refuses to tell us an actual story) only to return as a dapper, well-dressed zombie (sporting clean-as-whistle wing tips).  Hughes’ acrobatics are ineffective on Hayes, who merely reaches in, Mola Ram-style, and rips Hughes’ beating heart out of his chest.  After his body is thrown down the barn door, Hughes has enough time to explain to Sheriff Rudolph what has transpired, even asking him to shoot him.

Fourteen years later, after a mysterious car wreck that claimed the lives of four local teens, it seems our pal Abbott Hayes is still roaming the area of his former home, and this time, he’s lonely.  He happens upon the caskets of our young victims, and loving nibbles each to bring them into his zombified world.

Oh, and throughout this whole debacle, some rich dude decides he’s going to send his son out there to build a car dealership, directly on top of Hayes’ family graveyard.  Well, not actually on top – they dug up the caskets and dumped them all into a huge pit rather than relocating them to another cemetery.  Because that’s a good idea.

Hilary ensues, as one could naturally imagine, as our half-hearted cast of characters run around between the cemetery, the motel, and the diner, muttering to themselves and forgetting to clue the rest of us in on key elements of plotline.  The movie strays from conventional zombie wisdom, however, in key ways:

• Sneaky Little Bastards. Although we, the viewers, can clearly hear Abbott and his zombie friends wheezing and moaning and generally not being so stealth, it appears not only quite possible, but also quite commonplace, for a zombie to successfully sneak up on a living human, completely unsuspected, and eat them.
• The Failure of Inference. We don’t know why Abbott Hayes became a zombie.  We don’t know why or how he disappeared from the morgue.  Hell, we don’t even really know who the hell he even is save for the tiny bits of info we’re spoon fed throughout the duration of the film.  So who cares?
• Pediophobia. Apparently, according to Children of the Living Dead, zombies aren’t attracted to children.  Who’da thunk?
• Zombies are Smooth . Unlike their stiff and uptight ancestors, our zombies move fluidly, albeit slowly, and much like John Cleese in his trademark Ministry of Silly Walks sketch.

Why, Tom Savini...Why??

One might simply conclude that, despite the obvious failures of the film, a zombie movie, no matter how horrible, is still an enjoyable experience.  I implore you to toss that silly notion aside, as COTLD refuses to even show on camera any actual zombie killings, instead cutting away to attempted ‘artistic’ camera angles and leaving the viewer to deduce what occurred.

Art-nouveau, zombie-style? I think not.

And now, on this day before Halloween, I leave you with this week’s Sunday Morning Sketch Cinema quote of the week:

Matthew Micheals: “Of all the places in all the world my dad could have picked to build his dealership, he picked the one right down the street from Walking Dead Central.”

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It’s good to see Kane Hodder working again.

Halloween is almost upon us, and, as is the norm with my favorite month of the year, sketchy movies are rampantly abundant wherever one turns for cinematic entertainment.  So just how does one select a candidate for SMSC when there are so many goodies to choose from?

One simply looks for clues, such as sketchy Louisiana swamplands, Patrika Darbo, Patrika Darbo having her head squeezed until it bursts, the sleazy dude from One Crazy Summer, and a Robert Englund cameo.

This week’s pre-Halloween voyage into all things cinematically sketchy takes us into the haunted swamplands of pre-Katrina New Orleans during Mardi Gras, for Adam Green’s 2006 horror-comedy Hatchet.

College student Ben is having a rough time.  His girlfriend of eight years has just dumped him, and he’s stuck roaming the drunken, wild streets of the French Quarter with his breast-obsessed buddies, which is, for some reason, the last place he wishes to be.  What shall bring Ben (and his Newbury Comics tee-shirt) some welcome distraction and entertainment?

How about a nice, cheesy tour through the haunted swamps of Louisiana?

Dragging his hormonally-driven friend Marcus along (quite reluctantly), Ben finally finds a local shop owner who is still willing to take tourists into the swamp, conveniently ignoring the warnings of others who insist that the swamp has been closed for years.   Joining the boys on their escapade are tourists Mr. & Mrs. Permatteo (the lovely Ms. Darbo and hubby), Shapiro (the wanna-be porn director), Misty and Jenna (the unsuspecting ‘actresses’), and Marybeth, a local gal whose secretive demeanor tends to add an air of mystery to her.

As we’re taken through the hilariously corny swamp tour, it soon becomes clear that tour guide Shawn is not the expert he seems to be, as he fumbles through the fabled stories of the swamps with his fake bayou accent (we soon find out that Shawn is an Asian immigrant from Detroit) and shares with his passengers thetale of Victor Crowley.  Crowley lived with his father in a secluded house in the swamp, where they lived in solitude, away from the cruel torments of local children.  You see, poor Victor Crowley was born deformed, and his father kept him hidden away in order to protect him, until one night when a group of local teenagers attempted to smoke Victor out of his house by throwing fire crackers at the wooden structure.

As Crowley, Sr. returns to find his boy screaming and desperately trying to flee the building, he grabs an ax to try to break down the front door.  Unbeknownst to daddio, little Victor’s head was up against the door, and daddy dearest ended up slashing his face with the ax accidentally.

Legend has it that Crowley’s ghost haunts the swamplands, crying out for his father in the night.  As Shawn’s rickety tour boat runs aground, the group soon suspects that the legend just might be true.

Crowley, portrayed by Kane Hodder, is a hilarious incarnation of a horror-film bad guy.  While the film makes several attempts to get the viewer to pity our villain, Crowley’s exaggerated features and decrepit makeup provides nothing more than comic relief.  Though the film’s name would imply our bad guy’s weapon of choice, I’m fairly certain I saw no hatchet during this film.  I saw shovels, tire irons, and bare-handed mutilation, mind you, but no hatchets.  Disappointing.

Relieved to find that Hatchet was labeled a horror-comedy, I didn’t feel so bad for routinely laughing my ass off during this showing of sketch.  Marcus, our hero’s buddy, provides ample laughs throughout the film, even down to his final few minutes on screen.  Crap, did I just ruin it for you? Yeah, Marcus gets off’ed.  But what shall become of our heroes, Ben and Marybeth? Will Marybeth find her missing brother and father? Will Ben shut the hell up about his ex-girlfriend? Will the porn stars find out that Shaprio is a fake?

And now, my sketchy little friends, I leave you with this week’s Sunday Morning Sketch Cinema quote of the week:

Jenna: [sarcastically, to Misty] What a genius! You do know the vibrator goes in your cooch and not your ear, right?

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I wanted to craft a very clever and witty SMSC this week, I truly did.

Expectations and hopes were high, as I went into my weekend with a fresh stock of Netflix sleeves: The Last House on the Left, The Unborn, and My Bloody Valentine. Surely there was to be some healthy level of horror-movie-bloodlust with such a collection gracing my mailbox, but sadly, such was not the case.

Dear god, kill it with fire, and destroy all evidence of filmmaking.

Holy suckfest Batman!!  Thankfully, I can’t entirely say that I was caught off-guard by the massive amount of suckage that ensued, having been adequately warned of the many failings and disappointments of MBV, but…still, I suppose I did, on some level, expect…more.

The Unborn. I have to admit that roughly 80% of why this film sucked hosewater is my own fault.  Never one to forget an old, random, low-budget horror flick, somewhere within the dark annals of my mind resides an erroneous connection between this 2008 mega-film and the 1991 B-movie classic of the same name.  Though the logical bit of my consciousness was well aware that the newly released-to-DVD film had absolutely nothing to do with Rodman Flender’s tale of mad scientists and in-vitro fertilization (and more importantly, nothing to do with Kathy Griffin or Lisa Kudrow).

Instead, I was treated to a ridiculously weak storyline involving a centuries-old, pissed-off Jewish spirit who’s been fruitlessly searching for a human twin fetus to possess so he can be ‘born again’.   This is a relatively troubling concept, yes –especially when one finds out that the dead twin brother you were supposed to have has decided, randomly, twenty-something years later, he wants to be born.

Ok, that’ll register about a 7 on the heebie-jeebie scale, normally.  But, really….if the kid died in the womb, why is he suddenly an 8-year-old boy ghost? And why is he not a 20-something-year-old ghost, since his twin is roughly that age?

I want to go on and on ripping this movie, I truly do, but fortunately, the storyline was so incredibly weak and ignorable that I simply spent the duration of the film doing other things, such as watching the grass grow or paint dry, and can’t quite recall much of the forgettable details.

So, with my horror-hopes slightly dashed, I dove into Dennis Iliadis’s 2009 remake of Wes Craven’s 1972 masterpiece, The Last House on the Left.

And five minutes later, I ejected the disc from my player and had to restrain myself from tossing it, Frisbee-style, off my third floor balcony.

What a pathetic rip-off.  First and foremost, within thirty seconds the viewer is well aware that they are watching a Hollywood blockbuster as opposed to the “is-it-a-snuff-film” feel of the original.  Not scary.  Not creepy.  Just another movie.

Many of the story’s details have changed, which is yet another of my all-time pet peeves in horror movie remakes.  The most unsettling of which is the personality of Justin, the son of the ringleader of murderous hoodlums.

My recollection of Justin (aka Junior in the original) was not of a mildly-preppy and cute teenager who could easily woo the females, no – the face that comes instantly to mind is that of Marc Sheffler, who’s portrayal of Junior left viewers unsure and slightly wary.  His youthful ignorance does come into play later in the film, however, he is not the innocent young one the remake would have you believe he is.  Circumstances under which the girls are ‘taken’ have been completely morphed to indicate that Justin had an unintentional role in the murders, whereas the original film has you suspecting Junior’s intentions from the very beginning.

I knew that the powers that be would make a mockery out of Craven’s classic masterpiece.  Gone is the sickening sensation that what you’re watching might very well be real.  Gone are the far-too-realistic reactions of the girls as their panic consumes them.  Gone is the scary.

I’m not sure why Craven himself opted to not have a part in this undertaking, but I really wish he had (as was the case with The Hills Have Eyes, which was flawlessly remade).  I might have shed a tear or two as I officially gave up on LHOTL, I can’t quite recall…the memory gets lost in the suck-factor.

I’m pretty certain I won’t even open the little red envelope containing My Bloody Valentine, but who knows? Stranger things have happened….

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I’ve tried, in my own way, to formulate a well-written and concise synopsis of the plotline of this week’s Sketch Cinema gorefest, only to find that I fail at every turn, as this week’s voyage into the land of B-movie terror seems to come from a script which was seemingly written as if the cast and crew merely improvised a story line.  For this week, dear friends, I am stepping outside the norm and offering up a pre-canned, neat little synopsis for you, courtesy of www.movieweb.com.  I give you a very special Midweek Movie Madness version of SMSC, Jack Messitt’s 2008 bloodbath, Midnight Movie.

“A midnight screening of a 1970s cult horror film becomes a wholesale bloodbath after the members of the audience see one of their friends butchered on the big screen, and quickly surmise that there’s a madman in the theater who seeks to slaughter them all. It was just another run down movie house in a small suburban town: what better place for a screening of a true cult classic? But this isn’t your typical horror film, because years ago, the director had been locked away in a psychiatric hospital after having a complete mental breakdown. The teens at the screening have no idea that he escaped from the hospital nearly five years ago, and that chances are good he’s still out there somewhere. When the film starts to roll and the heckling begins, the atmosphere in the theater is loose and fun. Giddiness gives way to deep-rooted dread, however, when the horrified audience is forced to watch as one of their good friends is viciously murdered right before their very eyes. This is no movie, and when the audience tries to flee they realize that the same psycho they just saw on the silver screen has now trapped them all in the theater. With no hope of escape and their numbers thinning fast, the survivors must now figure out a way to turn the tables on the very same killer that they once rooted for in their favorite slasher flick.”

To the untrained eye, this actually seems like a pretty good plot for a horror movie.  So many elements come together to create what could be an explosively tense and frightening movie, only to fall apart at the last minute like a pair of  $0.99 Walmart flip-flops.

The Members of the Audience – a rather clever way to describe the eight-or-so people in attendance for this screening, our audience consists of a small group of teens, a rough-looking biker couple, and good old Detective Barons, who merely years prior helped to lock up the very film’s director in a mental institution.  We’re joined shortly into the movie by little Timmy, the younger brother of Bridget, a teeny-bopper whose mother had been horribly murdered.

The Director – I’m still not quite sure what exactly this has to do with the movie screening going horribly awry, but apparently there is supposed to be some connection made that was inadvertently left on the cutting room floor.  Our beloved detective has been made aware of the director’s hospital break out, and is on the lookout for his arrival.  The whole point seems rather silly to me, given the intended supernatural aspect of the plot.

Good Times Gone Bad – the teens start to notice that their own friends, each having removed themselves from the theater for various reasons, are suddenly appearing on-screen in the film, being brutally murdered one-by-one and dragged off to some undisclosed location.  Instead of citing this as completely irregular, the teens actually praise their friends’ clever ability to pull of some kind of major hoax.  Right. I’d be out of there faster than a bad blind date.

There are so many delicious little tidbits scattered throughout this movie – little gems of unintended humor here, bits of unsuccessful attempts at shock and gore there – that I can’t even begin to do them all justice.  One almost starts to wonder if Midnight Movie is actually a serious attempt at a horror movie at all…judging by the trailer, I am sadly led to believe it actually was.

And now, my sketch-loving cohorts, I bid you adieu, and leave you this week’s SM Sketch Cinema quote of the week:

“If you get turned on by this, we’re breaking up.”

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Last week’s post-event wind-down provided a massive amount of material to work with for this week’s SMSC, what with a physically exhausted body and a mind merely capable of functioning at half its normal IQ.  Inadvertently choosing an incredibly fitting theme, Chez Angele was teeming with zombie films galore as I gently coaxed myself back to real life, post-Comics Against Cancer. 

This week, my sketch-loving friends, I bring you the Reese’s Peanut Butter Cup of zombie films; a film that dares to combine the creepy awesomeness of the undead with the skin-crawling wretchedness of WWII Nazis, Steve Barker’s Outpost. 

Set in an unidentified, seedy war-torn area of Eastern Europe, Outpost tells the story of Hunt, a mysterious businessman who appears in a local bar, seeking to hire out a team of mercenaries to protect him as he ventures off to explore a recently acquired old military bunker.  With the promise of lots of cash and little risk, the cantankerous group of ex-soldiers can’t help but bite, and the group begins their journey into the unknown. 

Now, this sets us, the viewers, up for a nice, tense little tag-along ride as Hunt and his group of misfit toys begin their adventure.  We know there is much to fear where they are headed.  Why? Because we simply wouldn’t be watching it otherwise.  

For the members of the makeshift unit, however, it’s difficult to believe that, after having been assured that there is little threat in the job,  these men would slink around in a rather stealth fashion, guns drawn and ready to kill the first thing that moves.  Call me crazy, but it just seems a bit overkill for such a ‘safe’ mission.  We get it. We know there is something vastly freaky awaiting you lot – but you don’t. 

As the group arrives at their destination – a deserted WWII-era bunker – it suddenly becomes quite clear that this is not the safe little trip the soldiers were promised.  Unseen enemy fire rains upon them from the perimeter of the bunker, with one bullet resting in the left shoulder of one unlucky solder-for-hire.  As the film unfolds, we witness the mysterious advances of an unseen enemy force as the clearing around the bunker is brightly lit up at night, and the terrifying sound of ammunition is deafening. 

Hunt and his soldiers explore the secret bunker, which has seemingly laid undisturbed since the Nazis occupied it in WWII, and find, much to their horror, evidence of shocking human experimentation and other mysterious devices.  Having stumbled upon a chamber of naked, non-decomposed corpses, the soldiers are horrified to discover a survivor laying in the pile.   

A survivor!  Huzzah!  Surely this is something to be celebrated as the soldiers have seen nothing but death around them since their arrival.  Alas, our brave group of mercenaries instead seem to gang up on the unresponsive survivor, beating him and intimidating him into talking (which he does not).  So much for playing the victim. 

As the night unfolds, we begin to learn more about the secret work that took place in the bunker, including shape-shifting experimentation and reanimation, all in an effort by the SS to create the undefeatable super-soldier.  Deliciously haunted by a hint of actual history, the movie plays on the theories of Die Glocke (“the bell”), a purported top secret Nazi scientific technological device which has become something of a legend among believers in zero-point energy, perpetual motion machines, anti-gravity devices, reality shifting, reanimation, and time-space manipulation. 

This film, as far as zombie movies go (although I question the accuracy of dubbing this film’s villains as such), delivered more than one could ever hope for in a relatively unknown, almost-B horror movie.  Disregarding the strained, Saving Private Ryan-esque acting on the part of the mercenaries, this movie successfully creeped me out in unimaginable ways, leaving me tingling with anticipation over the rumored 2010 sequel, Outpost 2 (clever, eh?). 

And now, my dear readers and lovers of everything sketchy, I leave you with this week’s Sunday Morning Sketch Cinema quote of the week: 

Prior: See, the bright light… it ain’t heaven, son. It’s just a muzzle flare.

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