Showing posts with label Guilty Pleasures. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Guilty Pleasures. Show all posts

Monday, September 8, 2008

I'm Down with F.O.T.G., Yeah, You Know Me

This comes to you as part of the sublime Final Girl Film Club. Stacie Ponder's so much better than me, and arguably much better than you.

That's respected actress and director Ida Lupino screaming at the big maggot that just gnawed her arm.

The good backwoods Christian wife, Mrs. Skinner (Lupino), thought that yellow puddle in her backyard was the Lord's work. She insisted, "The good Lord give it to us cause we're deserving people, and we pray regular we do. The lord's gonna see to it that we don't need money no more, never." Once old Mr. Skinner saw that the substance wasn't oil, he naturally thought to himself, "why not feed it to my livestock?" Waste not, want not. I guess... They still had to force it down their chickens' throats by using additional chicken feed. Never mind the unusual color and consistency, and that animals refuse to eat it of their own accord; The Skinners love the Lord, so that gosh darn slop better be good for something!


Well that specialty slop has been lovingly labeled for pre-sale as 'F.O.T.G' by Mrs. Skinner. That's The Food of the Gods to you city folk! Wasps, rats and roosters love the stuff about as much as those greedy corporate types, but it's only the animals that experience a laughably terrifying case of giganticism. The human race is doomed! Have the Gods forsaken us, or do they just see the novelty in mega-chickens like the rest of us?

But let's be honest, we didn't seek out Food of the Gods to see big animals devouring people via shoddy trick photography. We came for those beautiful characterizations.

He's the wise pro-footballer drawn into a chaotic world of monster roosters and evil sludge. She's the female bacteriologist who loves him. Theirs is a romance that will transcend time... Or at least until they get back to the mainland. Jack (Marjoe Gortner) is what we'd call our hero. He's completely unappealing and bland, but he's at least he's conscious of the cataclysmic problem fifty-percent of the time. The same can't be said for his love interest Lorna (Pamela Frank), who sums up her story right off the bat: "Female bacteriologists are not that easy to find..." Clearly she's right, but someone could have looked a bit harder given Lorna's complete uselessness in a crisis. She gets a little depth when, seconds after (finally) shooting a human-sized rat in the face, she's more aroused than ever. Lorna seductively turns to Jack, "If I told you what I felt right know you'd think I was crazy. I want you to make love to me." See? Layers.


Meanwhile Lorna's business companion is the soulless Jack Bensington (Ralph Meeker), who wants to sell the supersizing slop for money. We already know Jack's a bastard because he loves being called one. In fact he's such a bastard that he joyfully drives past a bloody car accident AND a pregnant woman in distress. But Jack's interests lie solely in that supernatural chow ("This is the end of it! I want it all!") and making sure he can get the profit when it inevitably hits big on the market. Then there's the rest of the sideline characters -- pregnant girl, dim husband -- doing their best (ie. worst) to survive the onslaught of the Gods. Best of luck to them!


With Food of the Gods it's all about the trick photography, and the trick is not to laugh. It's harder than you'd think. Miniatures and the like make your standard scene of rats overtaking an RV seem especially charming. Consequently, two-thirds of the runtime consists of rats running into frame and being blown out of frame. Perhaps I'm too sensitive, but by the twentieth gunshot to a rodent's face, I've had my fill. It's glorified rat snuff! There's no enjoyment in that, and it ultimately derails the film for those of us with souls. Alas, giant puppet rooster heads and transparent wasps make my heart swell, so you take what you can get. After all... if you don't clean your plate, you don't get dessert.

Thursday, August 28, 2008

VHS Retrospectives: Waxwork (1988)

I can remember as a tot curling myself into a little ball while watching the horror flick Waxwork. I was alone in the basement, which probably accounts for most of my bad childhood reaction, but I thought it was pure unadulterated terror. (It was around the same time as my devout love for USA Network's Up All Night with Ronda Shear... Anyone?) Upon watching it again, age has taken off the nightmarish sheen and replaced it with ninety minutes of laughter. Nowadays it all looks pretty silly, but (for the most part) intentionally so and in the very best way. With all the 80's horror flicks being pillaged by the studios, this one has some of the best remake potential -- not that I'd actually want to see that happen. As the evil curator says in the film, "They'll make a movie about anything these days." Waxwork was SO ahead of its time.


The story consists of teenagers lured into a mystical wax museum, where crossing the red velvet rope means crossing over into the harsh realms of some true horror icons. Vampires, mummies, sadomasochists (?); it's all here alongside an admirable amount of crushed heads. I'm sad to say I didn't curl up into a ball this time, but I found an altogether different kind of enjoyment...


First off, that kid from Gremlins is kinda hot! There's also Bobby from Twin Peaks (pre-Bobby from Twin Peaks) in a very bad wig. Bad for him, good for us. His short-lived character is best summed up by this exchange mere moments before his death: "The Caribbean, the Bahamas, a pretty girl, a body, a bikini... Do I get a woman in my illusion? No, I get a dick. This sucks man!" That "dick" he's referring to is the Wolfman, and the illusion isn't what sucks, it's his role.


We've got that old tried and true horror dynamic of the bitchy skank and her chaste best friend. Here the skank lays it all out: "I do what I want when I want. Dig it or fuck off." Simple enough... You still want layered characters? Well that so-called virgin's got a big lust for whippings and the Marquis de Sade! She's also played by the awesomer-than-most Deborah Foreman, whose awesomeness may have peaked when she played both Muffy AND Buffy in the certifiably awesome April Fool's Day.


Then there's ALF as the Waxwork greeter, described in the film as "that weird tiny guy addicted to helium." His real name is Mihaly 'Michu' Meszaros, and no one gives a line reading quite like him. "Ve vere expectink more!" Would I hire him to be my butler? Yes. Would it make everyone and myself uncomfortable? Yes.


Waxwork has exploding heads, bodies split down the middle, werewolves eating the handicapped, and people impaled on champagne. If being filled to the brim with explicit gore weren't enough, it's all topped off with some Lesley Gore. Madame Tussauds' got nothin' on this place!

Tuesday, May 6, 2008

You Burn When You Dance!


5 Reasons
NOMI MALONE
is... More Evolved T
han Me...


(Apologies. The beauty of Elizabeth Berkley's performance is not able to be captured in still form. Her highly trained spastic intensity just will not translate.)


1) Nomi can take care of herself, and for that she carries a blade. She also knows when to hold strong, such as when faced with listening to Garth Brooks on a road trip.




2)
Nomi doesn't worry, she knows how to vent her anger. Why let things bother you? Things like traffic. She expels her frustration by using that open hatred of cars.



3)
Nomi can eat a whole bag of potato chips in one sitting, easy. To this girl, a meal's a meal. She's no snob, she's done doggie chow in a slump. (Even in her artful "self-moment" montage she's gorging!)



4) Nomi treats everything in life like a dance. Even littering.




5)
Nomi's knows when an apology is due, like when you set up your only friend with a rapist.




And other life lessons...




Even the rich and handsome are awkward when it comes to foreplay.




A winning attitude pays off.




Dancing IS fucking.



Sunday, April 27, 2008

If loving you is wrong, I don't want to be right!


Ahh, the pleasures of guilty pleasures... Poison Ivy is just enough daddy-stealin', lesbian-lovin', body-doublin', creepy eroticism to be one. I discovered it as a kid on late night television -- edited but sleazy on TNT -- back when TNT used to air good trash cinema, not just the high profit garbage cinema they air now. Honestly though, how would anyone have found The Shawshank Redemption without them?


Poison Ivy caught Drew Barrymore at the peak age to not show the goods, so it's all skeevy Tom Skerritt and that (probably lovely) anonymous woman's tits. But that SCORE! It's sultry from the opening credits, it's courtesy of David Michael Frank, and it sounds like what late night TV should sound like. It lets you know things are heating up for those truly great bits. The bits where the naughty Lolita, known only as Ivy -- as named by the tattoo on her upper thigh -- sways the hubby to go down on her in front of his unconscious wife, while wearing the wife's best dress no less! Those bits.

It's pulpy, constantly amusing, and dare I say... kind of thoughtful? It's got Sara Gilbert as Darlene Connor as a bi-curious loner, tire swings, teen-to-dog standoffs, car accidents, pill-popping, fucking in the rain on car hoods! Proceed with caution though.... I'm seriously weirded out by Tom Skerritt on full display in the unrated cut. I'll stick to my childhood comforting TV edit thank you.

Katt Shea seems like a genuinely skilled filmmaker. It all looks very nice, and just the opening scene of the sexy/innocent Ivy floating by on a tire swing is enough to prove the woman's talent. And then she did The Rage: Carrie 2, so who really knows...

Give it a look sometime. Late at night, edited for cable.


*Specifically chosen screengrabs to make it look suspiciously more arty and sexy than it actually is.