⭐️⭐️1/2
Smart money says that if one believes their apartment is haunted, the best way to gather evidence is to record a video blog and let your subscribers work along with you to capture the proof needed to calm the nagging notion in the back of your mind that you just may be insane. The hilariously named Genesis Brady is the renter with a suspicion that the supernatural has begun to encroach on her life. Moving doors and poltergeist activity has immediately started up after Genesis had an argument with her mom and a falling out with her friend. Said friend is now harassing her on social media and creeping around her neighborhood. Genesis lets it slip that Blythe has always been into witchcraft and even dragged her along to a séance. Quick cuts catch us up on all the backstory, it’s the two minute mark and we have our protagonists issue presented, a likely suspect to the unfortunate circumstance and the mention of a male friend who is trying to help calm her down. That’s got to be some kind of record of getting to the fucking point… especially in a found footage flick. Blythe apologizes via text and leaves the cryptic message that she wishes she could stop what’s been set in motion but it’s impossible. We haven’t hit three minutes yet. Knocking, phantom voices and dropped temperatures begin to annoy and Genesis contacts a paranormal researcher to help her out with the situation. Dan starts acting weird and bad luck accompanies the paranormal activity. Recordings capture the lamest child ghost clip I’ve seen outside of YouTube and Genesis takes it shockingly well and just decides to fend for herself before the paranormal investigator can help out. Further poor choices are made and the depth of awfulness proves to be far more vast than one motor-mouthed redhead could be expected to deal with. An ability to communicate through knocking answers some questions but also raises a couple more and the investigator warns her that she has a parasite on her hands and she needs to stop communicating immediately. She also doesn’t offer much of anything close to a helpful solution. Elizabeth Chamberlain is fucking delightful if not completely believable but I don’t think anyone was expecting award-winning performances. A shaky performance is forgotten thanks to just how charming she is, presenting a young woman who sprinkles a ridiculous situation with enough bits of reality-based humanity to make the less-likely actions easy to shrug off. So, there’s not much to the haunting aspect for a big chunk of time (it takes the “tell, not show” angle) but luckily all of that time is spent with a protagonist that I fell completely in love with. Your enjoyment is completely dependent on your tolerance for no-budget hutzpah, so plan accordingly.
aka Dr. Breedlove/Dr. Breedlove or How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love
⭐️⭐️1/2
Despite what one may think after viewing this nutso nudie cutie outing, an adult human wrote this script. I was under the impression that an adolescent cocaine addict raised on jerk-off magazines tried their hand at the screenplay but I’ve been told I was wrong. I’m still not completely sold on that. Sterilox is a 612-year-old dimwit with a spaghetti colander on his noggin from the galaxy of (sigh) Buttless. He is given the kind of assignment that only exists in questionable movies and the fantasies of guys who call themselves “alpha”: Go to Earth and find the “perfect specimen” of woman to perpetuate a slave class. His leader believes, and I quote, “these women make ideal servants if you train them properly.” Sterilox meets up with Dr. Breedlove (like Dr. Strangelove but really stupid) who has invented the Sex Machine. What does this Sex Machine do? Well, it makes mostly mute (they do manage to say the film’s title quite often) abducted girls strip naked and undulate. These Go-Go gals have such names as Boobra, Hotty Totty and Gina Catchafanni, so there ain’t much personality beyond swaying mammaries, impressively giant hair and the disturbing realization that they all probably landed the role thanks to their ability to still shake their goods while taking copious amounts of quaaludes. The cheap-ass feel of the whole production has me thinking this is a likely scenario. Breedlove’s sex-starved assistant Kissme has the look of someone whose brain turned off immediately after getting off the bus from Kansas and landing her first and only “acting gig” in a producer’s wood-paneled basement. There’s a few monsters hanging around: a lady mummy named Selfish (she’s all wrapped-up in herself… sigh), a transgender Frankenstein’s monster (she was Fannystein but now he goes by Frankystein… sigh) and cinema’s most pathetic Dracula for reasons I’m not all that sure of. Both misogynistic and naive, Kiss Me Quick! is one incredibly strange and stupid exploitation flick that, despite all odds, manages to entertain when your not rubbing your temples and groaning. Large breasts help at first but then too much of a good thing sets in and you’re begging to get lost in the idiocy of the non-booby parts. Shared lingerie (there’s a budget to consider), dirty uncle jokes circa 1957, the ever-present nudie cutie pasty buttcheeks, pepperoni nipples, library muzak, dad jokes circa 1934 and an abuse of laboratory sound effects will charm and agitate in equal measure. I usually avoid nudie cutie flicks like the plague but if more of them were like this, I’d still avoid them but less like the plague and more like an ex with a short fuse and maybe VD… just get me drunk and we’ll see what happens.
⭐️⭐️
Spider One of Powerman 5000 writes and directs a pretentious meditation on art and monsters. I actually hate myself for writing that sentence. I feel gross. Anyways, an opening quote from Vincent Van Gogh (his final one) lets ya know you’ve entered a high-schooler’s idea of edgy. The appearance of John Ennis and some short and sweet opening credits offer some hope. But then things start and you fall into what could kindly be described as well-produced off-off-Broadway garbage. Ennis is an angry theater director forcing his students to “show me the monster”. One girl obliges and transforms into something awful. A moody painter is having trouble finishing his latest piece, which is making his client antsy. He has an existential crisis because of his “art” which leads to immense stomach (?) pain and the appearance of visions involving some Creepshow-reject slicing open the artist’s throat. The horrific thing also inspires great art so whatever. A wiener writing a horror screenplay about a slasher called “The Whistler” deals with his angry inner critic in the form of the killer he created. It gets violent. A date between an awkward guy and an outgoing young woman heads back to the man’s house. They chat, drink wine and get to know each other. She’s a sculptor and she shows him some Polaroids of her admittedly disturbing sculptures. Discussions on the actual meaning of “art” and a chaotic intensity slowly seeping into the conversation eventually leads to the only conclusion it could. Thirty minutes into the film and we finally get a solid outing featuring two likable characters. A crying slasher in an ugly-ass baby mask is the focal point of a slasher film being watched by two chickadees who disagree over the film’s merits. One of the women (the one who dug the movie) is in a band and following a rehearsal they talk about the emotional importance of music.
One idiot is looking into a sequence of notes that can manifest evil. This ties into that first story because the girl’s friend is the one who transformed on stage and her asshole boyfriend was that unlikable artist who encountered that Creepshow antagonist. Six notes later and I’m sure you have already figured out where this is going. If you’re really into dialogue that makes you want to punch people, boy oh boy is this the film for you. There’s a bunch of unlikable people (none of them are bad actors) and minimal surprises. It’s easy on the eyes and they’re all trying so I’m not angry at it. There’s even a couple memorable images to make it feel like you didn’t completely waste your time. Love the poster.
⭐️⭐️
A documentary crew is invited to a historic Long Island manor by the enigmatic proprietor of a local funeral parlor named Vincent Miller. He claims the place has deep ties to the Civil War and will help to shed some light on the assassination of Abraham Lincoln. The pre-credits murder of a grieving widow lets us know he’s evil as fuck and harnessing some supernatural powers… we learn pretty quickly that he’s a vampire. The smoky-voiced head of the crew, Christina, and her small team set up in the large manor house and are greeted by Miller’s elderly housekeeper who has the acting prowess of driftwood. Thankfully, she’s given a bunch of dialogue. A squiggly black mass of lines starts “evil-talking” to the crew and floating around the place. Vincent requests nobody disturb the basement or his mortician and he also plays the organ after dinner so he’s obviously a real weirdo. Crew members Cosmo and Lexy are actually looking into the case of a missing woman behind the back of Christina. Civil War soldiers with skeleton faces appear and put a bayonet to good use on the sole African American member of the crew… yikes. Vincent proves a tough interview, not because he’s refusing to get in depth on his family history but because technical issues are making it hard to catch his image and voice on camera... which is incredibly frustrating considering he admits that his grandpa was behind the Lincoln assassination and is now the owner of a shit-ton of confederate gold. Other ghosts appear, horrible visions are had, more of the crew die… becoming ghosts themselves, there’s vampires in the basement, there’s also a mad surgeon who moves around like a crackhead evading a debt collector, a young girl may have the worst scream in horror history and Mr. Allen watches from the shadows lookin’ like he’s suffering from severe constipation. A ghost on one of those stair-lift chairs elicited a much-needed belly laugh from me and hopefully does the same for you. A really cute deaf girl out-acts everyone (she’s not a great actor, it’s just an incredibly easy feat) and some silly spookers hang around the house to make it more than a complete waste. Did I expect more from the director behind Big Freaking Rat and The Amityville Moon? Of course I didn’t, you idiot. I may have missed it because the thing did not hold my undivided attention but I don’t think any reference to the Amityville house or town was made.
⭐️⭐️⭐️
The product of the unholy fornication between a video camera and a pile of trash, Hellroller is a garbage epic that entertains with its ineptness as it stretches the viewer’s patience. If you don't mind smelling like a dumpster for the rest of your life, I suggest you jump on in. Eugene is a miserable homeless person, pushed around L.A. by his mother (Mary fuckin’ Woronov billed as Penny Arcade). A quick revelation shows her not to be his mother at all but his aunt who has raised him since his real mother was raped and murdered by horny conjoined twins. This is also the reason he's in a wheelchair, as he was dropped when they started groping his mom/hooker. His aunt is soon robbed, raped and killed by two bums (thankfully off screen) and Eugene loses it. Eugene teams up with a mentally challenged Tennessean named Donald and begins taking his revenge on all the normies he's grown to hate. Their first victim is a gym owner who rudely tossed Eugene out. After that Eugene spots a newscast saying that supermodel Michelle Novak is in town and decides she'll be next. Ms. Novak (Michelle Bauer who would go onto "better" things like Sexercise and Bikini Drive-In) spends an extended amount of time performing an odd mix of aerobics/undressing/stripping before she gets into the bathtub. Eugene and Donald force their way into her hotel room. For some reason Eugene kills Donald when he attacks Michelle but then ends up murdering her anyways. Ok. We're "treated" to another endless scene of a woman dancing and getting naked (this lady being porn star Hyapatia Lee from such classics as One Wife to Give and Saddletramp) before jumping in the shower and getting murdered by the handicapable killer. Twitchy Eugene continues his mutilating and his mental state deteriorates right along with it. He runs into trouble with some sort of “king of the street people” thanks to his actions. He also visits a mad doctor and pays him for a potion to turn all the normals into bums. He succeeds but his actions are about to catch up with him. There's a lot wrong with Hellroller. The handheld camera was obviously operated by a semi-blind person with Parkinson's and a finger constantly tapping the zoom button. Outside of the shocking cameo from Mary Woronov and the always welcome Michelle Bauer, there's not much to recommend in the casting section. Although it really fits the "dump truck in August" vibe permeating the film's loooooong 70ish minutes. Luckily for all us idiots, there's enough zero-budget charm to make the trip worthwhile.
⭐️⭐️⭐️
Renowned skeptic paranormal investigator and debunker of charlatan clairvoyants, Harry Price, is enlisted to assist a rising MP by the name of Edward Goodman whose wife is claiming to be plagued by the supernatural… causing a bit of a scandal and hindering the aspirations of the government official. The powers-that-be convince a reluctant Price to stay at the Goodwin home and get to the bottom of things. A sensible housemaid and opportunistic journalist are also hanging around and Mr. Price moves into the house to untangle the mystery of Mrs. Goodman’s affliction. The place was formerly a workhouse where a youngster was murdered and it’s expected the child may be the ghost tormenting the woman. But there’s also some skeletons in the Goodwin closet, which could also explain the recent unpleasantness. Harry’s got his own baggage and he’s running out of time to spare the troubled woman from the horrific fate that is enrollment in a sanitarium. Deliberately paced and somewhat intriguing look at the very real man who has been given a bit of a mythological status amongst ghost hunters. Rafe Spall is excellent as the haunted man trying to suss out the truth he knows to be hidden under psychological distress and lies. Things even manage to get a little spooky in some points, not something I was expecting at all.
⭐️⭐️⭐️
Internet rumors and supposed cover-ups have mixed well with firsthand accounts of an American monster roaming the wilds where few people tread. The Land Between the Lakes is a National Recreation Area almost completely untouched by the hands of man. Kinda. I mean, there’s abandoned settlements, forsaken campgrounds and the like (the government threw up their eminent domain middle finger and kicked a lot of inhabitants out of the place decades ago), but for the most part, it’s unspoiled land located on the border of Kentucky and Tennessee. It’s 171,280 acres of the closest you can get to primeval forest in these southern United States. Of course the legends run rampant, the most popular one being a 1980’s massacre of a camping family by these dogmen. There’s no proof that it happened and with nothing to substantiate this attack, folks point to a government cover-up. So now a couple of researchers are in the area jumping to conclusions whilst sharing the tragic history of the area. It’s not just werewolves (or whatever the hell these dogmen are), there’s also ghost lights, shadow people, phantom voices, Sasquatch… the usual. Our investigators Aaron Deese and Shannon Legro do their best to sift through the lore, the lies and the facts to the best of their ability. It’s an interesting time if you’re willing to shut up that logic point in your brain. They’re also way more levelheaded than most of these folks who go rummaging through the woods on the hunt for threads that probably lead nowhere. That’s usually the case for these docs released from Small Town Monsters (that’s a good thing, I like their production style… very little eye-rolling from me when it comes to their team… can’t say the same for some of the folks they interview). They touch on the idea of them being a supernatural entity that’s more akin to demonic than anything existing in the natural world and just dimensionally conversing… which is a good way to explain away why they have gone unfound for so long… if you can buy into any metaphysical bullshit. That’s up to you. They also briefly mention the idea of government black ops which I really wish they spent more time on but not because I think that’s close to the mark, I just think it would be hilarious watching folks explain why dog/human hybrids are the ultimate government killing machines. Former law enforcement officer Martin Groves gets a lot of time and comes across as a solid witness with one hell of an unbelievable story… I’ve read both his books and like the man, so it was nice putting a face to the storyteller. Listen… I’m not saying that dogmen exist, a basic knowledge of biology and physiology makes it a little bit more than difficult for me to wrap my head around that but what I am saying is; if dogmen exist, I think the best spot to go looking for them would be in the LBL.
