Unseen Terror 2016: Day 3

Commander James Bradley, a no-nonsense military scientist stationed on Japan's Kunashiroshima Island, has been conducting a series of experiments consisting of desalinizing the surrounding waters. His worrisome wife Anna tells him that these processes are causing the island natives great stress, but he begins to think of ways to negotiate with the villagers so that he may continue. After the testing begins, they awaken a fearful and frightful "obake" nicknamed Varan, who many of the residents worship and consider to be a deity of the lake. To the surprise of nobody, the beast goes berserk, beginning to lay waste to everything in its path, while humanity attempts to concoct different ways in which to stop him.


In recent months, I have tried my absolute best to refrain from using strong language on this blog, as there is always the chance that an employer or family member may be popping in to read one of these reviews that I type up every so often. Mind you, the occasional curse word still slips out from time to time, and given the amount of bad movies that occasionally stumble into the Unseen Terror pile, it seems inevitable. After all, do you realize how hard it is to summarize one's thoughts on a movie like Don't Go In The Woods or Pinocchio's Revenge without using the terms "fucking" and "awful" in the same sentence? It is perhaps the hardest thing that I have to deal with during these long marathons.


But, when it comes to a picture such as Varan The Unbelievable, there is no way to mince words. It is a colossal piece of dried-up shit. As I have touched upon in previous entries, I do not always have a particular fondness for when American film studios thoroughly butcher something that comes over to the states. In the case of Daikaiju Baran, one of the first non-Godzilla related monster movies to come from Japan's Toho Co. and the final one to be shot and released in black & white, it was acquired four years after its initial release by the independent company known as Crown International Pictures, who are more renowned for releasing an assortment of "B" movies, including the Ed Wood-written Orgy of the Dead and The Beast of Yuca Flats. Come to think of it, "butchering" may not even be the most appropriate term to use when it comes to CIP's handling of Varan. Because while it is highly likely that both iterations of the final product are still silly overall (this was my first viewing of either edition), the Americanized flick looks and feels like it was horrendously gutted, as a humongous amount of the original release has either been erased or replaced by a plethora of scenes created solely because they were afraid of audiences being turned off by a cast led by non-white actors. The mostly new cast is led by Myron Healey, who was known primarily for his work in Western-themed television shows during the 1950s and 1960s. He is fully aware that he is starring in a release geared towards a certain market, but his exposition-heavy dialogue and wannabe noir narrations are the furthest thing from this film's problems.


Most of that lies in just how disrespectful this new cut feels not just to the original Japanese cast and crew, but to the people of the country altogether. Well-loved composer Akira Ifukube created some very memorable pieces for the production, with one in particular being reused and retooled in other Toho pictures throughout the years because of how powerful and effectively moody it is. So then, why did they feel the need to disregard a majority of the score and hire Albert Glasser to do a new, inadequate one? I mean, Varan is far from world-class material, but at least the former tried his damnedest, no matter how weak the entry ended up being. Anna, the Japanese wife of the aforementioned Healey and another added feature to the CIP version of the flick, is portrayed as a physically and mentally weak human being whose sole reason for existing is to act as a vagina and nothing more. While it is true that other entries in the realm of Kaiju Eiga were also guilty of not being the kindest to women (try watching Showa-era Gamera films and argue with me about this), it still feels like a big step down from other studios' managing of previous Toho efforts such as Godzilla, King of the Monsters! Worse yet, all segments involving the actual people of Japan's plights and panics dealing with Varan are either muted or flat-out not translated whatsoever. So, every time that there is a soldier on screen talking with his superior, a citizen expressing their ideas on how to deal with the monster, or anything else that you can tell was fairly interesting, they just subtitle it with "(Foreign Language)." I suppose that they are of the belief that most moviegoers in the early 60s were illiterate or xenophobic. The titular antagonist's unique roar, which would be recycled and remixed for other Toho creations such as Megalon, Baragon, and Gorosaurus, is dubbed over in place of something that sounds similar to the rumbling of a dog with an upset stomach. Various scenes involving the beast's rampages or display of abilities were also removed for the sake of time and the hope that he would look more menacing to the general public. Yes, Varan does somewhat resemble a mutated hybrid of a lizard and a flying squirrel, but why would you decide to edit out footage of the destructive behemoth in a GIANT MONSTER MOVIE? Shit, that's like cutting out scenes of the Joker in Suicide Sq---oh, wait.


All of my legitimate complaints aside, it still feels so unfair to give Varan the Unbelievable any sort of proper critiquing, as this barely resembles anything of the original Ishiro Honda-led project. Earlier in the picture, Healey's character of James Bradley utters the line "They might get a better story if they stay closer to the source material," and I couldn't have summarized this shockingly short seventy-minute-long feature any better even if I had an English professor peeking over my shoulder once every five minutes. Perhaps this often forgotten entry in the world of Kaiju Eiga will warrant another viewing in the future, and hopefully I will be able to track down a print of the original cut that aired in its native Japan. If you are into astonishingly bad edits of pictures from the east, Varan the Unbelievable is available for free streaming on Amazon Prime, and a home release of its source material, Giant Monster Varan, was distributed by Tokyo Shock and goes for more than a pretty penny on most online shopping services these days.



Still, it's highly unlikely that any print would be able to fix that silly design for the flying mode of the monster himself . Oooooooooooooooooof..




Tomorrow, Nikkatsu studios decides to get involved with this supposed "kaiju boom" that seems to be the rage with all the kids, but will their cinematic release rise like the phoenix, or crash and burn like a turkey jumping off of a cliff?

Unseen Terror 2016: Day 2

In feudal Korea, several groups of peasants live in fear of a greedy king, who seems to benefit from starving residents while taking all metallic goods and tools from them in the hopes that it can help expand his own army. During one particular conflict, a young man named Inde is captured and sent to jail, where he sees that his future father-in-law, a well-respected blacksmith named Takse, has also been imprisoned due to resisting these requirements. Over the course of several weeks, the elder becomes ill, and as he draws his final breath, he crafts a small figure made from rice and clay, beseeching that someone or something will listen to his pleas to save the village from this tyrannical, ruthless madman. It doesn't take long, however, for his requests to be realized. The next day, his creation has sprung to life. The miniature monster, nicknamed "Pulgasari" by the villagers, has a knack for eating anything containing iron, and seems to grow in size after he has devoured enough. With this observation, the offspring of the now-deceased older man believe that this new arrival can be used to benefit the greater good, and along with other disgruntled, nearby villages, they can now crush the oppressive dictator.

To those with an open and keen eye, South Korea has certainly been anything but strangers to the realm of oddball cinema. In addition to releasing some stupendously excellent flicks in the fields of horror, action, and thrillers, they have taken a dip into the realm of monster movies on more than a few occasions (2006's The Host is a tremendous piece of work, and even the 1999 remake of their own Yongarry is decently entertaining). While some did ultimately wield mixed results, most of these aforementioned releases have certainly managed to catch the attention of those seeking out something from this subgenre beyond the walls of its countries of origin. Seemingly jealous, and praying to not be outdone, their brethren in North Korea were desperately hoping to reignite the film industry in their own part of the peninsula. So, in 1978, under the orders of the infamous Kim Jong-il, they decided to begin the slow attempt at building interest in North Korean cinema in the most logical way possible: they kidnapped famed South Korean director Shin Sang-ok and his wife/lead actress Choi Eun-hee, forcing the two to create and star in multiple motion pictures for the purpose of spreading both entertainment and propaganda.

As it turns out, Kim was a humongous fan of motion pictures. Before his demise in 2011, he was reported to have owned a movie collection that contained upwards of twenty thousand VHS tapes and DVDs. Still, I would bet money that he didn't usurp the amount owned by some particular friends of mine that currently reside in Wilmington! As the concoction for Pulgasari may tell you, he was also a rather big fan of the Gojira franchise. Of course, the irony of a nutjob such as him loving something that was quite staunchly anti-war and anti-nuclear weapons is just hilarious, but I digress.

To the shock of absolutely no one, Pulgasari feels like a mixture of political commentary and a low-rent knockoff of smaller Kaiju Eiga pictures (the similarities to Japanese production Daimajin are uncanny). There is a not-so-subtle attack on capitalism that can go over the heads of the youngest and most ignorant of viewers, but there is a good chance that the ideas of anti-communism and dictator bashing that pop up towards the final act can not be so easily ignored. Unfortunately, the abundance of our wailing, moaning, and mundane humans could make it rather difficult for them to even pay attention to these messages. While I can understand those who criticized the 2014 iteration of Godzilla for its weaker, non-kaiju protagonists or occasional lack of creature presence (even though the Big G himself only appears in his 1954 debut for approximately seventeen minutes), I could not tell you a single distinguishing characteristic about any of these individuals, with something as simple and vital as their own names seeming to be insignificant in the long run. Mind you, it has only been a mere twelve hours since I finished today's entry, so that is saying a lot.

Oh, and in terms of our titular character, he is far from the worst behemoth that I have seen on the big screen (the one to bear that mark of shame will appear in a later review), but he is not exactly something to write home about either. Pulgasari's facial features are certainly expressive, with its eyes and mouth operating much more efficiently than it has any right to. It is arguably the best part about the costume, and a highlight of the entire ninety-five minute-long experience. That is where the praise ceases though, as the overall final design just seems to be frankly lazy in most areas. When he is pint-sized, he behaves more like a poor man's version of a Mogwai or E.T., which was very likely done in the hope that it would entice children into venturing out to whatever Cineplex was nearby, which could in turn lead to a gaggle of merchandise being manufactured for the general populace to purchase. That, or veteran suit actor Kenpachiro Satsuma (yes, the same one mentioned yesterday) just decided to do whatever the hell he wanted to during production. He looks akin to a very strung-out combination of an Ultraman villain, a brown bear, a boar, and someone you see at a Kid Rock concert (go ahead, make a "Manbearpig" joke while you're at it). He looks like a meth-head minotaur who has been sitting out in the sun for too long. Sadly, he doesn't even have abilities beyond being able to grow exponentially larger after consuming enough iron. And man, you should have seen my face after one of the villagers exclaimed "It even ate my pot!"

*When you realize that Yongarry and even Guilala will receive sequels before you do*

The only way to possibly recommend something such as Pulgasari is to suggest that you view it as anything other than a kaiju movie. The action featuring the colossal creature is sparse, the score is pathetic, and the plot is filled with far too much happenstance. As luck would have it, when you are facing down a gargantuan threat during the years of the Goryeo Dynasty, you don't have to do much worrying, as there are a good number of mystical people and plot devices around to potentially stop or combat the monster. Even worse is the occasionally sluggish pieces scattered throughout, and had it not been for Satsuma's portrayal of Pulgasari himself along with the involvement of Toho Studios in the special effects department (spearheaded by their own Teruyoshi Nakano), I would have turned it off halfway through. And yet, when you factor in the sheer insanity that went into its creation and sole reason for existing, it is a fascinatingly bad film to view. As of now, the only way that one can properly attain a copy of this failed experiment is to buy it on the bootleg market, as it is highly unlikely that something such as Pulgasari will ever find its way into what video stores are left around the globe. Thankfully, it IS available for you to watch on the wonderfully weird cesspool known as YouTube. Oddly enough, there is also a documentary out there to rent titled The Lovers and the Despot, which chronicles the shocking story behind the capture of, and efforts from the couple during their forced tenure working under the orders of the North Korean government.


Oh, and what reward did director Shin Sang-ok receive when he and his wife were able to escape from the clutches of the evil Kim Jong-il and his own father Kim Il-sung? Well, they dipped out during a film festival in Vienna, Austria, managing to make their way over to the United States, and living secretly among the town of Reston, Virginia while being protected by American authorities. Then, when he felt comfortable enough to make a foray back into cinema, he made the following motion picture.

Well.....I guess that could be considered failing upwards?



Tomorrow, it's back to the land of the rising sun! This time, the titular foe is a bit........unbelievable!

Unseen Terror 2016: Day 1

Well, isn't this a sight for sore eyes! Much like a particular professional wrestling company that refuses to die (without giving away too many hints, they begin with "T" and end with "A"), Unseen Terror has returned from the grave for its seventh year on this funny little thing that I seem to call a blog. If you are unfamiliar with this whole ordeal or concept, I will provide you with a very brief explanation. Back in 2010, in between time spent looking for employment and just trying to keep my sanity intact, I decided to "up" my horror and science fiction movie game. Thus, I figured that a good way to kill several hours would be to view at least one new motion picture a day, and write about it immediately after it had concluded. Of course, this can only include movies that I have never seen before (though that rule has been broken on a couple of occasions with pictures like Rodan and Martyrs), as typing about well-known classics such as The Thing and Evil Dead 2 just seems unnecessary at this point. And besides, why not partake in occasionally unearthing a hidden gem or two? I believe that acting defiant or hesitant towards finding new favorite films seems wholly illogical and just plain silly.


Anyways, let us dive in, shall we? If this year was a massive milestone for me in my personal life, then I find it only fitting to begin with one of the most awe-inspiring figures in the realm of monster-centric cinema.

Reporter Goro Maki is sailing near Daikoku Island, which has recently seen its fair share of volcanic activity. He suddenly comes across a fishing vessel, the Yahata-Maru, and after stopping to explore the boat, sees that nearly every person on board has died. Suddenly, he is attacked by an unusually large sea louse, but is saved by crew member Hiroshi Okumura, who despite suffering wounds from fighting with this mutation, survived his encounter. While Okumura is hospitalized in Tokyo, Maki questions the man about what exactly happened on board. He claims that during a rough storm one evening, he saw a monster emerge from the Island, and that the enlarged copepod which killed his friends must have come off of what startled him so badly. After looking through a series of photographs and hearing stories of a Russian submarine being destroyed by seemingly unknown forces, the fisherman and journalist conclude that something has occurred that the rest of the world prayed would never happen: Godzilla, an immense, walking, breathing reminder of the atomic nightmare, has returned. In a world that features two nations on the verge of waging war with one another, what actions can be taken to halt this unstoppable presence? And for that matter, at what cost?



Despite what you may be thinking right now, I have not seen every single entry in the oh-so-beloved and adored Godzilla film series. Well, not in their intended or original formats anyway. If I can be allowed to cheat right off the bat, my viewing of 1984's The Return of Godzilla was, by definition, not the first time that I partook in such a thing. In fact, if you would be so kind and appreciative, let me rewind the clock for you.


During my childhood, there was a local VHS store in Wheaton, MD whose name I unfortunately can not recall. Though they were eventually bought out and turned into a Blockbuster Video, both establishments (along with THIS previously discussed tape) served as a stomping ground for me being able to catch my first glimpses into the wonderful world of Kaiju Eiga (roughly translated to "giant monster movie"). Over a good number of years, I managed to convince my parents to rent nearly anything and everything starring gigantic creatures battling either a battalion of resistance and/or another beast of equal-sized proportions. One of these efforts was the fairly self-explanatory Godzilla 1985, which happened to be the American edit of the film whose poster and synopsis you glanced at a moment ago. Despite the video cassette copy of the flick opening with an amusing animated short titled Bambi Meets Godzilla (which can be viewed here), I remembered virtually nothing about the actual motion picture itself. Sadly, it appears as though Godzilla 1985 may forever be stuck in the realm of VHS traders and buyers, as legal reasons such as the sampling of scores from Christopher Young (Hellraiser, Drag Me to Hell) and the original stateside distributor (New World Pictures) going the way of the dodo, have prevented it from ever seeing release on a disc of any kind in the West.


Yet in 2016, Kraken Releasing, who have helmed the Blu-Ray releases of several other Toho projects during previous years, somehow managed to scoop up the rights to the original, theatrical cut for The Return of Godzilla. To an unabashed geek such as myself, this was our equivalent to Chinese Democracy finally being released to the general public. Yes, it was depressing to hear that only ONE cut of this forgotten entry would be available for us fans to finally own again, but it was still shockingly exciting news, especially since I have grown and gained a great deal of respect for the original Japanese language audio. So, now that I have finished their decent-looking Blu-Ray of Return, what were my thoughts overall?


If you are going by "giant monster movie" standards, this particular picture doesn't do much to differentiate itself from the rest of the pack. Godzilla attacks buildings, fights tanks and fighter jets, picks up trains and discards them like a toddler who tires of his old toys (which felt like an homage to this film's thirty-year-old predecessor), and breathes his trademark atomic breath on the poor suckers who aren't smart or quick enough to run as far away as possible. Even his origin is just the same as it was in his original heyday, though Return disregards every other entry's existence save for the debut flick from 1954. Hell, the backstory on how Toho Studios tried several times to revive the King of the Monsters during his ten year hiatus from cinema could have made for a far more interesting final product. Some of these included American producer Henry G. Saperstein's idea of pitting the Big G against a variation of one of the titular creatures from Toho cult favorite (and previous Unseen Terror entry) War of the Gargantuas. When that fizzled out, Toho decided to remake the original film, only with Jun Fukuda (Godzilla vs. Mechagodzilla, Godzilla vs. Gigan) sitting in the director's chair, rather than the more well-known and respected Ishiro Honda, who opted out of directing this revival due to his commitment on several Akira Kurosawa projects. Finally, it was decided that were the decision made to have Godzilla resurface on the big screen, he would face off with a larger threat, and it would be against a previously unseen force simply called "The Asuka Fortress." Though not much is known beyond that project's title, the image of a gigantic version of the NXT women's champion facing off against a radioactive dinosaur could make for silly fun in this day and age. And yet, when THAT didn't take off, the final idea presented was to have a newer entity, a sort of "combiner" kaiju that went by the name of Bagan, take him on. Suffice to say, none of these ended up going beyond the developmental and pre-production stages, and the latter monstrosity in particular has garnered himself quite a bit of fame over the decades as perhaps the most beloved unused Toho creature of all time, making appearances only in the realm of video games such as Super Godzilla and Godzilla Movie Studio Tour. I mean come on, the poor guy couldn't even make it into a Mothra-centric release!

"CAN ANYBODY FIND ME SOMEBODY TO LO-er, FIGHT?!"

The human cast is unfortunately hit or miss (Keiju Kobayashi as Japan's Prime Minister is arguably Return's best character), and even coming from someone who watches television programs such as The Walking Dead, I felt that I was being smothered by the amount of new people that were inserted into the plot throughout its decently-long running time (and with pro wrestling-style introductory captions popping up during said debuts). The motion picture boasts a rather impressive composition from the relatively unknown Reijiro Koroku, who does an adequate job of filling the legendary Akira Ifukube's shoes for the time being, as the veteran refused to return for a newer entry because he felt dissatisfied by the decision to increase Godzilla's size during his hibernation (a choice that was inevitable due to Tokyo's skyline growing that much larger over the course of ten years), and didn't want to write scores for "eighty-meter monsters." Luckily, the aforementioned replacement manages to conjure up pieces that are equal parts grandiose and quietly morbid. It is one of the more underrated aspects about a release that some will be catching just so they may see the spectacle of it all. And for those who will feel the opposite way about this or are offended by the man's absence: Akira-san returned to the franchise only seven years later. Leave your stupid comment in your pocket.


Some of what makes this particular film shine is also what hurts it in the end. While the overall design of this iteration of Godzilla, the first of the "Heisei" period, doesn't look terrible per se, there are a good number of close-up and "mug" shots that look almost comical. Yes, he looks pretty menacing when viewed from the side, and the decision to add tiny ears and sharper-looking teeth don't really hurt the aesthetic and overall presentation of the kaiju, a decent portion of the criticism stems from Toho's decision to construct a sixteen-foot robotic version of our colossal antagonist in addition to using the tried and true technique of having an actor parade around in a rubber suit (in this case, Gigan actor Kenpachiro Satsuma). Despite it costing nearly half a million dollars, there are times where it often looks and feels far too unrealistic (well, for this type of picture) for the viewer to feel threatened or frightened. Thankfully, the traditional portrayal of the titular creature in The Return of Godzilla makes up for these occasionally odd technical choices by having him act as mean as he possibly can. There are multiple scenes of the radioactive behemoth coming dangerously close to the civilians fleeing or hiding from him, and in several instances, his own path of destruction is demonstrated by scenes of innocents being crushed by rubble or even running around engulfed in flame. The only thing missing was a choir of girls singing out of fear and despair like in the original Gojira, but it's a minor complaint. He is a mean, primal, and occasionally simplistic animal that, simply put, can not be stopped or reasoned with, and by God(zilla), sometimes that is all that we fans need; a walking symbol of the reminders and horrors of nuclear warfare.


The Return of Godzilla does stumble in a few areas, and most of that is due to being a victim of having a smaller budget and the evolution of special effects work throughout the thirty-plus years since its initial release. However, the battles with the military and the spiffy Super X, a self-described "flying fortress" with cadmium missiles and special armor, are other highlights that are fine enough to make you forget about the occasionally confusing amount of human characters. The cold war tension, despite feeling a little dated, is actually handled fairly well and maturely as well, although I wish they had hired somebody without Grade Z-level acting to play the representative for the United States during his two moments on screen. It is certainly flawed, but even the weaker entries in this sixty-two yearlong franchise have a handful of good parts to them (yes, even Godzilla's Revenge). If you're a fan that ranges from "casual" to "obsessive," then I can't see a reason why you shouldn't finally add this one to your own personal collection. For the time being, The Return of Godzilla can be purchased via most online shopping services, and during the time that you are reading this, there is a strong chance that you can grab it for a meager ten dollars on Amazon like I did.



Or, you can grab several dozen hardcover books to read while you wait for 1985 to finally be released. Your loss.



Tomorrow, those darn monsters are sticking around and still causing trouble for the general populace, but this time, they're invading North Korea...

Yoga Hosers (2016) Movie Review

Colleen C. and Colleen M., two best friends who spent most of their time being stuck at school or staying glued to their cellular phones, are begrudgingly stuck working during a boring, mundane evening at the Eh-2-Zed, which happens to be a convenience store located in Manitoba, Canada. Their store manager has run off for the weekend, which is all the more coincidental considering that one of the adolescents' parents is with her. Disgruntled, but not discouraged, the young women call up two male familiars, inviting them to their place of employment in the hopes that they can still party and have something that constitutes as fun. After the men arrive, an old evil begins to resurface, terrorizing our heroines. This particular menace? Nazi sausages that kill their victims by entering through their colons, all while shouting nonsensical German gibberish. The girls slowly unravel the origin behind these miniature threats, and it will remind them that paying attention in history class sometimes has benefits after all.

Story time:

When I was a relatively immature and underdeveloped young man, I had a rather questionable taste in cinema (there is a debate that I still bear this at the age of thirty). In particular, my main attraction seemed to be to flicks of, well, lesser quality. I'm comfortable enough at this stage in my life to confess that I willingly saw dreck such as Tomcats, Almost Heroes, and The Animal in theaters. However, my exposure to the works of Kevin Smith, an independent mind from a small town in New Jersey, changed that. He proved that a large budget and array of highly paid actors were not pivotal to a film's quality. Sure, there was an absurd of vulgarity to be found in his screenplays, and you could probably lose count with how many times his most famous creations uttered words that would make your parents grimace, but there was still a clever and surprisingly intelligent edge to them that could charm nearly anybody with a working brain. He was speaking for the little guy (figuratively speaking), the geeks, and the oddballs.

Fast forward to 2016, and the man who I always assumed was critic-proof is anything but these days. Beginning with 2010's fairly abysmal Cop Out, his critical accolades have been diminishing over the seeming lack of effort and divisive writing in most of his recent projects. While I admit that yes, I have been fairly confused and disappointed by these pictures myself, I still respect his commitment to essentially saying that he is going to do what most truly great directors do, which is delve into whatever territory that they wish to, and without the pestering of big Hollywood studios or disgruntled performers being able to interfere with their vision. Given Smith's previous output in the previous two decades, including beloved independent classics such as Clerks and Chasing Amy (two films that I would be more than happy to put onto my own personal top 100 list, should the demand for that ever come about), I'd say that he's earned every right to make a picture such as Yoga Hosers, his third foray into the realm of horror, and second into its mostly-beloved offshoot that is branded as horror-comedy.

Likewise, as someone who paid their hard-earned money to see the writer and director's newest cinematic release, I feel that I have earned the right to say that Yoga Hosers is a gigantic, ugly pile of clutter masquerading as a motion picture, and could serve as the final straw for those who have been struggling to defend Smith's weakest output over the years. However, there is no plausible way to dismiss the cynics this time around. With all of its way-too-obvious flaws being thrown right out into the open, it almost seems like it's mocking you for making the decision to see a terribly made film. Mind you, I have said time and time again that one can find an obscene amount to enjoy in movies that are so bad that they are good. But, those come from people or producers who set out with the honest-to-god belief that by making these mediocre screenplays and scripts into something that can fit onto the silver screen, they are creating genuinely good films. When you set out to make a bad feature on purpose, you usually end up with a festering heap of garbage that nobody outside of your circle of friends and immediate family will likely enjoy.

The big gist of Yoga Hosers' humor seems to come from one thought that crossed Kevin's mind (and presumably while he was very, very high): Canadians talk funny. If you were to make a drinking game with how times every single character, which ranges from the leads to cameos from two people who can not be that desperate for a paycheck in the day and age of nerd culture being so popular, utter the same old, tiresome clichéd Canadian slang ("sore-ree, aboot" ey," or a combination of all three), you would be dead from alcohol poisoning before the first act has even concluded. If you took Bob and Doug McKenzie and turned them up to eleven, you still wouldn't be able to equal the stereotyping churned out here. In small doses such as the brief appearance of the Colleens in connected movie Tusk, this can be mildly amusing. But when you are hit with a barrage of it over the span of ninety minutes, plus jokes as lackadaisical as Canadian citizens eating cereal such as "Pucky Charms" and "Honey Nut Cheeri-Eyys," it just leaves you feeling a bit stone cold.

....hey, it's better than anything in this fecal waterslide. Trust me.

Getting into the cast-side of things, I could begin with talking about the decision to cast young Harley Quinn Smith, the daughter of our aforementioned director, and Lily-Rose Depp (I'll give you two guesses as to who her father is) as protagonists Colleen M. and Colleen C. Before you accuse the film of nepotism, I would like to assure you that yes, it is blatantly obvious that this film is suffering from it. After all, I could dare you to try and catch all of the members of the Smith and Depp family if you can. Family-related favoritism is the least of Yoga Hosers' worries though. For the most part, the young ladies do seem to be enjoying themselves, and their decent chemistry with one another most likely stems from being close friends in real life. That's where the positive aspects of that spectrum end though. If you ever thought that Johnny Depp's prosthetic-heavy character of Guy LaPointe, the horrendous French-Canadian stereotype from Tusk, needed more screen time the same way that you thought the character Mater from Cars needed more exposure in its own sequel, then you are in for either a treat or a long series of sequences where you will be angrily leaning your fist against your cheek. Kevin Smith himself also shows up so that he may portray the Bratzis, who are brought to life via green screen and designed about as well as a modern day Puppet Master sequel from Full Moon Features. For a movie that cost approximately five million dollars to make, it looks remarkably cheap. And before anybody in particular jumps on me for that, Jeremy Saulnier's Green Room cost the same amount of money, and it looked far more impressive than this effort. Hell, Adam Wingard's You're Next was created for a fifth of what Yoga Hosers cost to make, and it also shines infinitely brighter by comparison.

Bad costuming and occasional effects aside, what Yoga Hosers thinks it makes up for in style more closely resembles that of when older, greedy executives attempt to cater to a generation that isn't nearly as stupid or easily amused as some people think that they are. Surprisingly, that group of higher-ups doesn't exist in a case such as this, because all of the feature's work belongs to, you guessed it, Kevin Smith. The plethora of such groan-inducing segments that constantly pop up time and time again (see below) can't be blamed on any other person but himself.

Note: I do NOT condone using your phone in a theater. However, when you are the sole ticket buyer, maybe it's understandable in cases like these. Also, really?

I can't stress enough about the repetition of Yoga Hosers, and why it's the biggest problem with the whole darn thing. A gag, such as the one that flashes an "Instacan Bio" every time that a new character appears on screen, is cute at first. The same can be said with having every resident other than our mainstays utter the title of this creation out of disgust once in a while. But, when it never seems to stop, it starts to get on your nerves, and ultimately makes you wish for every single person involved, be they good or evil, to just get off the screen and go back to taking part in better productions. Packing your picture with pop culture references, video game homages, or even throwbacks to other works of your past (catching nods to Clerks and its subsequent animated series does nothing to help its cause) can add to your overall fun factor. Heck, Edgar Wright's brilliant adaptation of Bryan Lee O'Malley's Scott Pilgrim graphic novels proved that. When it borders on pandering, and then ventures into desperate territory, you just come out feeling rather unhappy.

Factoring in the preplanned trip up north, plus the additional time it took for me to travel from Potomac, MD to the Arundel Mills shopping area (one of the two theaters within decent driving distance that happened to be playing this flick), I technically tracked seven and a half hours in my car so that I would get the chance to watch Yoga Hosers. I am uncertain if this is a record for myself when it comes to venturing out just to watch a stinking movie, but for the time being, I'll go with a yes. Kevin Smith's twelfth picture in his filmography (thirteenth if you count his segment in Holidays) also stands as the most depressing venture that I have taken to the Cineplex in several years. Yoga Hosers is what happens when a talented filmmaker throws a large array of ideas, be they silly or excruciating, into a blender. However, the individual has become too stoned to remember the fact that you have to plug in such a device in order for it to do its job, and the end result is just a foul-tasting, shockingly unfunny mess. If this is the New Jersey native's attempt to appeal to the teenage girl crowd, I think that sticking to something such as Chasing Amy, or even the wrongly-derided Jersey Girl, serves as a much better alternative. Kevin, I know that you will likely never see this review (although if you do, there's a very good chance that the negativity that I typed will be read aloud on your podcast), but as someone who will always identify himself as a fan before he ever gets tagged as a critic, I am asking you: put down your smoking paraphernalia and try writing something again with the intentions of it being a good motion picture. From this day forward, it seems like your intention is to have the movies that are trashed by the "haters" equal the amount of releases that are loved not just by your diehard fans, but by fans of cinema in general. And come on, the numerous amount of shots taken at the muckrakers and detractors in this movie, especially in a not-so-subtle manner, is beneath you and makes you look as petty and whiney as M. Night Shyamalan. I know that you are saying that at this stage in your career, you are choosing to make the movies that you want to make (which begs the question of when were you not?), and I will support your decision to take such a risk. Just remember: not everything devised and brainstormed on the Smodcast needs to be turned into an actual production.



The fact is, you're not just disappointing a longtime fan who even owns a signed Jay & Silent Bob Strike Back poster and two different trade paperback copies of the Clerks comic book. You're breaking my heart.





All of that being said, I'll see you at Moose Jaws. Just promise me that there won't be multiple segments involving bad singing.

Don't Breathe (2016) Review

Three young, small time criminals spend most of their time breaking into various homes, stealing only what is requested of their superiors or employers. Despite seemingly enjoying what they do on a regular basis, at least two are growing frustrated with this profession, longing to leave this life behind and begin anew. When one receives a tip about a residence that supposedly contains upwards of $300,000 in cash stashed inside of a basement, the group agree to one last heist. While on stakeout, they discover that not only is this abode inhabited by one, older man, but that the homeowner is blind. Later that evening, as the break-in is commencing, the solitary resident is revealed to be nowhere near as defenseless as he may appear to others, and that this dilapidated dwelling houses some very sinister secrets.

"I'm sorry, but North America just doesn't produce any good horror films anymore." 

As a movie lover and reviewer, if I may be able to request one thing these days, it would be that such a statement as that be put out to pasture. Over the last six years, we have been lucky enough to receive a large number of motion pictures that serve as not only adoring love letters to the fanbase and the genre's past, but a good chunk of releases, be they released to on-demand services or cineplexes, that have also managed to gather the necessary testicular fortitude to push it into a daring, new direction. Yes, there are still a myriad of unnecessary remakes and reboots that seem to come out more frequently than even I would expect, but they rarely affect the legacy of the originals, and are often forgotten about within a staggeringly short amount of time. Naturally, the response to some of the previously mentioned pictures in mind has been rather divisive, but that is expected from nearly anything to come along these days. To say that cynicism and hints of nihilism is a large problem in the communities of nearly everything that I personally like would be an understatement. However, with something as prominent as the "home invasion" sub-genre occasionally being forgotten about (save for gems such as Adam Wingard's You're Next), taking a risk by switching things up and having those who are burglarizing end up as the victims instead, is an opportunity that I believe is vital for the genre's survival.

As it turns out, 2016's Don't Breathe, written/directed by Fede Alvarez (Evil Dead 2013) and distributed by Robert Tapert and Sam Raimi's (Army of Darkness, Spider-Man) Ghost House Productions (Drag Me To Hell, 30 Days Of Night), is one of the best theatrically-released horror films that I have seen in recent memory. Heck, even though I am typing this in the month of August, I would not be shocked whatsoever to see this end up in my own personal "top ten" list towards the end of the year. A horror/thriller piece that is ripe with this much tension throughout its eighty-eight minute running time deserves all of the praise that is bestowed upon it. If you are the type of fan that pays good money to see horror flicks with the intention of being scared, or at least feeling so nervous that it could potentially induce nausea, this could be like discovering that the finest bottle of sake that you normally would go out of your way to seek is suddenly available right down the road. What a rather glorious feeling. What is sure to elicit the most amount of recognition during this feature's run over the course of the next month or two will be the wonderful cinematography and lighting, which is powerful enough to make the most claustrophobic and nyctophobic of people want to soil themselves. Unfortunately, that rules out the possibility of my own father ever viewing Don't Breathe, but you can't please everyone folks. It also packs a creepily effective score courtesy of Sexy Beast's Roque Banos, who knows not to be overbearing or obnoxious with a project such as this.

One of the wiser choices from somewhat-new heads sitting in the director's chair, as well as up-and-coming casting directors such as Rich Delia (Dallas Buyers Club, 2017's It), is to choose relatively unrecognizable faces as both heroes and villains. With this, Fede Alvarez manages to conjure up some exceptionally well done acting from our relatively minuscule list of performers. Evil Dead alumni Jane Levy is back after what seems like an eternity of absence from the big screen (hey, three years can seem that much longer in a horror fanatic's world), and reminds folks yet again about why publications and websites such as Forbes and Complex were so high on the very talented woman and her future in the world of entertainment. Her other companions, portrayed by Goosebumps' Dylan Minnette, and It Follows' Daniel Zovatto, are also in very fine form, with both adding more humanity to Don't Breathe to help keep it grounded and interesting. Quite often, you can pick out a weak link among any sort of ensemble, no matter the size, but that is far from the case in Don't Breathe. Admittedly, I have complained multiple times in the past about my personal gripes with how some characters act in situations such as these (it was my main reason for being unenthused with 2006's Them, a.ka. Ils), but when you consider their circumstances, personalities, and disappointing lives outside of their profession, being cross at them for taking certain actions becomes far more understandable.

Of course, what is a good horror movie without a diabolical reprobate? Avatar's Stephen Lang delivers one hell of a nerve-racking performance as The Blind Man (if my memory serves me right, our trio of robbers never learn his real name), and he is easily the most unique foe to come along in one of these films in several years. The aged citizen is cold, creepy, and underneath it all, assuredly deranged. While you do feel more than a few ounces of sympathy for the elderly gentlemen throughout the first half of the film's running time, its twists and turns slowly remind you that even handicapped individuals such as this one can keep terrible, awful mysteries hidden from the general public. At the risk of minor spoilers, to say that you experience a complete 180 degree turnaround on your opinion of the man, especially if you are a woman, is the most obvious statement of the year. It makes the events surrounding these poor souls, and Don't Breathe as a whole, that much more demented and daring. The Blind Man is also accompanied by a rather intimidating, relentless pet Rottweiler, who at times, manages to disturb and freak you out more than his own master can do. After witnessing the crazed canines in this year's Green Room, I think it may be safe to say that assorted writers in Hollywood have been doing a damn fine job of reminding audiences that man's best friend can be more difficult to deal with than you would think.

Don't Breathe is an often quiet, firm, yet exhilarating piece of suspenseful horror that both respectful devotees and casual fans of the genre will greatly be able to appreciate, while never feeling like it has to be desperate and scare the audience with cheap thrills and predictable cliches found in releases that are of lesser quality and take very few chances. No, it is well aware that have paid good money to be thrilled and frightened, and that after barking for so long that you "deserve a better class of fear," it is going to do the very best to stand and deliver on that request. As I have stated multiple times before, if you are willing to let yourself be sucked into a movie's world, absorbing every necessary detail and looking at these human beings as something more than just characters stuck in a scary movie, I am more than convinced that you can have just as fantastic of a time as I did. After all, when a sizable gathering of moviegoers* are eliciting several audible moans, gasps, and flat-out "NO!"s during a majority of the right moments when you are supposed to, you know that you have done your job as a filmmaker particularly well.

Now, perhaps if it isn't too much to ask for, can we hire someone to write a new character for Stephen Lang to play in the Marvel Cinematic Universe? Perhaps a "Reverse-Daredevil," ala the antagonist for the CW's adaptation of The Flash? Yes, I know that the actor is not legally blind, but one can dream, can't I?

......Wait, there are TWO OTHER individuals in the Marvel Comics world for him to potentially tackle? Well, I suppose that can suffice...for now....

Note: I only say "sizable" because, and I hate to say it, some moviegoers will venture into every picture in this field with the worst of intentions; sporting a defiant, arrogant attitude that says they lack a willingness to be scared. Don't be that person. Let your guard down. Be afraid. Be very afraid. :)

Sausage Party (2016) Review

It's another morning at local supermarket Shopwell's, and confident, excitable wiener Frank has only two goals for the day: to end up with Brenda, a neighboring hot dog bun, and to be handpicked by the hands of the "gods" themselves. According to legend, those who are chosen to take the journey to the great beyond will experience pure bliss, being treated like royalty while surrounded by their utmost desires. After one fateful, but rather messy day, the two find themselves separated from their packs, while the rest of their respective groups of friends are taken away to the promised land. Banding together with a whiny bread product named Sammy Bagel Jr. and a rather grumpy Vash named Lavash, the group set out on an adventure that will expose a horrifying reality for all consumable items that could change the very means of their own fragile existence and once-thought perfect future.



Honestly, after pasting that poster and typing up that synopsis seen above, how does one even properly start a review about a theatrical release such as this? Admittedly, conjuring up something worth saying about a film that was most likely born out of way too much free time and entirely way too much marijuana and psychedelic use is far more difficult than it sounds. Writer/producers Seth Rogen and Evan Goldberg, who at this point on are the furthest things from strangers to regular cinephiles, seemingly have some of the biggest balls in the entertainment industry. They have not only managed to keep the idea of the "stoner comedy" alive and well, but recently even managed to finally adapt one of the most popular comic books of all time to television after so many before them attempted or failed to do so. Conceptualizing and realizing a motion picture such as Sausage Party is just so incredibly strange though. After all, an animated tale about food that must band together once they realize that their ultimate fate is to end up inside the mouths and stomachs of those who they once cherished and revered? That....is a really, really silly basis for any big screen show that cost nineteen million dollars to make. In fact, it borders on just plain idiotic, with the possibility of this series of niche jokes wearing thin after a shockingly short amount of time has passed.


Thankfully, Sausage Party, directed by animation veteran Conrad Vernon (Shrek 2, Monsters vs Aliens) and relative newcomer Greg Tiernan, is also incredibly, absurdly funny. In fact, next to February's Deadpool (the argument for which flick is more crude will certainly pop up soon), I can't recall a time this year where I laughed this much in a theater. A sizable chunk of the movie's humor is built off of running with the "ridiculous" factor, managing to appeal to a wider array of fans than even those who viewed the trailer would believe that it could accomplish. True, most audiences will still consist of real-life counterparts of those who we saw throughout pictures like Half Baked and Harold And Kumar Go To White Castle, but it won't be made up of solely dopes like some critics think that it will be. It's like picking up a cheap item on the menu from a restaurant that you expect to be at least decent, but are surprised that its taste and size is actually comparable to that of the more expensive entrees.


For a premise that looks fairly simple on paper, there actually is more going on in Sausage Party that one would suspect. There are the food equivalents of race wars and divides, religious conflicts, and multiple discussions about sexuality that permeate throughout its crisp, smooth running time. Of course, the obvious hot dog and bun jokes are something that even your average eighth grader could come up with, as are some of the puns and one-liners from our primary antagonist of the picture (hilariously voiced by the supremely underrated Nick Kroll), but they're forgivable in the long run considering how many quips, one-liners, and amusing anecdotes manage to stick their landing so well. There is also a fairly funny allegory for arguments about one's views on deities. It also strays away from one of my very few fears that I had about the trailer by not shoving any sort of theme into the picture about not consuming certain products. Every single piece of produce, meat, spice, and sauce are treated equally in the film, and you feel horrible for any segment that involves their grisly demise. Mind you, there is a good chance that you will be laughing heartily during said sequences too like I was doing more times than I could count.


Some may complain that Sausage Party's animation is pretty average, and you wouldn't be incorrect. Hell, I can think of a myriad of pictures released by DreamWorks during the first half of the 2000s that look better than this. But if you were looking for that to be your main draw or attraction, then I believe that you are searching for the wrong type of flick. As one would also suspect, the voice cast is rather large and in fine form. Sure, Seth Rogen and his usual band of misfits and cohorts are here (ask me who in particular shows up, and I can answer "yes" to each guess before you even finish their full name), but after this many products have been released that feature his name attached to it, you should fully expect that. Some Saturday Night Live alumni also pop up, including Bill Hader (Trainwreck, Cloudy With A Chance Of Meatballs) as an aged bottle of whiskey who somehow manages to convince me that one can smoke assorted things through a kazoo, and Kristen Wiig (Ghostbusters, Welcome To Me) as Frank's buxom, fluffy love interest. However, snagging veteran performers like Edward Norton (American History X, Fight Club) and Salma Hayek (From Dusk Til Dawn, Frida) could not have been an easy task. Then again, if I was the former actor, I might relish the chance to voice a bagel who utters the phrase "mashugana cunt" if the opportunity presented itself to me.


I am well aware that there are younger people who occasionally check out my own reviews, but I would say that as a closet one myself, Seth Rogen and Evan Goldberg are living proof that all stoners or potheads should not be stereotyped. Heck, movies like this were made to be enjoyed with friends who are equally sick-minded and willing to drink a beer or partake in smoking something that should not be illegal before the screening takes place. Sausage Party is a much more well-crafted project than it has the right to be, balancing outrageous, vulgar humor with some heart, a clever script, and a fairly good message about solidarity during times of chaos and violence. Oh, and its third act manages to jump the shark in the type of manner that drives it from "good" to "great." In a way, it's the foulmouthed, deranged cousin of another animated release from earlier in the year that also had fine intentions and preached what we all need to be hearing in this tough climate that we are waiting for to be over in several months from now.



Let's just hope that's the last time I ever compare a motion picture from Disney to another film containing rampant use of bath salts though.

Suicide Squad (2016) Review

Superpowered beings have emerged from the skies and the shadows, and because of it, a wave of destruction and battles have ravaged cities and increased the number of civilian casualties. Cautious of any potential future threats, intelligence officer Amanda Waller presents a curious concept to government officials that could benefit them more than they could ever imagine: a group of expendable convicts, some imbued with powers of their own, will be lead by Special Forces standout Rick Flag. They will proceed to carry out dirty and dangerous missions in order to have their own sentences reduced, all while being closely monitored by Waller herself, who will implant small explosives in their heads to ensure that they do not stray from the path. When one of the intended recruits goes rogue, intending to annihilate all of mankind, the idea is made concrete, and the team of expendables is hastily assembled and sent to work.



In case you have been living under a rather heavy rock, Warner Bros' track record for big screen adaptations of DC Comics properties during the new decade has been rather...well, rocky to say the least. While a good number of us are anticipating future installments in this newfound universe over the course of the next five years, we seem to be doing so with arguably massive hesitations. After all, when your flagship and launching point for this was the extremely divisive Man of Steel, one can't be entirely surprised that nervousness has reached highs that no fans should ever have to experience. So, during this downtime between superhero films, the decision to bring Task Force X, also known by the more familiar, catchier-sounding "Suicide Squad" to cinemas around the country, sounded like an awfully risky thing to do. Choosing to handle a group of villains whose entire purpose is to forcefully and begrudgingly serve a higher, more noble power against their wills seems unusual. Why not focus on a more guaranteed money-maker like the Teen Titans? Or try to do a bigger, better, and more proper handling of the Green Lantern? True, we are getting those down the line, but the questions still linger in the back of your mind.


In a weird, yet tragic sort of way, the handling of Suicide Squad is not too different from that of another installment in the realm of "comic book" movies that came out just last year. You have an established property, known decently well by hardcore fans, with just enough recognizable names (be they fictional characters or real-life performers) to ensure a good box office intake and high merchandise sales. You have a talented individual sitting in the director's chair and writing the script (in this case, David Ayer, whose track record includes writing Training Day and directing End Of Watch), who has been able to provide more than their fair share of respectable and/or good motion pictures in the past. However, you are also at the mercy of your distributor, who can be rather ruthless, demanding, or pestering at times. Because of this, a myriad of problems arise, shining all too bright for even the blindest of fans to ignore. Much of the humor that was added in due to the backlash that this year's Batman v. Superman: Dawn Of Justice received for being what many called "too dark" feels incredibly forced, with one or two quips and lines out of twelve producing a chuckle. Whenever a filmmaker is forced to go back and do reshoots, or add in material against their will, it rarely ever works to the flick's advantage. Even if someone such as me thought that Batman v. Superan had far more problems than not being fun enough, this decision ends up as more of a grave misfire rather than helping to provide anything extra on the positive side of things. As I said above, there are a small handful of laughs, most coming from Will Smith's Deadshot, but that has more to do with the charismatic actor playing an exaggerated version of himself rather than the iconic ruthless assassin that he has been cast as. For somebody who is a cold, mostly humorless killer in the comics, all you end up waiting on is for him to spout his usual "aw hell nah" rhetoric that he's so well known for. For her first time appearing on the big screen, psychotic fan favorite Harley Quinn is given more than enough time to provide the laughs, even if not all of them hit (and god knows there were a LOT of gags and wisecracks that she spits out). Next to the two cameos from two particular protagonists whose names I will not give away, and an entertainingly ruthless job by Viola Davis as government official Amanda Waller, she's easily the best part of the picture, and Margot Robbie seems to be relishing every minute and moment that she gets to appear on screen. How much of that can steeped in reality and how much is rooted in fiction I'll never know, but I digress. They are the most akin to what we define as a "complete" character, which is oddly one of the main problems that Suicide Squad has, though it's far from its biggest fault.


In fact, the technical and behind-the-scenes aspects of Suicide Squad could realistically be its worst offenders. The computer-generated imagery and effects are, at their best, passable, with the highlight being the earliest version of primary antagonist The Enchantress (played by Cara Delevingne, whose performance devolves into complete B-movie camp towards the end). At their worst, they are inexcusably horrendous. There are far too many instances where they are eerily reminiscent of the work seen in Alex Proyas' Gods Of Egypt, and I assure you, that is the furthest thing from a compliment (and boy do the Enchantress and her brother make for lousy, corny villains). Suddenly, Doomsday's ugly, crowbarred appearance in Batman v. Superman isn't looking so bad after all. It also suffers from some of the choppiest editing that I've seen in a bigger budget film to date. I know that its predecessor had at least a good half hour removed from its running time, but one wonders exactly how much of Suicide Squad was left on the cutting room floor. To my knowledge, Jared Leto's Joker had a large number of his scenes removed from the theatrical print, which may partially explain as to why his character ultimately serves no purpose for being there, contributing essentially nothing to the overall main story arc during his shockingly short amount of screen time. Supporting members of Task Force X, such as Japanese swordswoman Kitana and the quirky Captain Boomerang, though certainly anticipated by readers and familiars such as myself, are barely utilized. I kept wondering if Ayer forgot that they were in the picture to begin with, and others such as Killer Croc and El Diablo, as close as they may come to being "cool," feel an awful lot like MacGuffins, and badly stereotyped ones at that. Truth be told, you could remove nearly every member of the team save for about two or three, and you would end up with nearly the same movie that we get in the end. Say what you will about Marvel's team-up movies and their occasional tendency to overcrowd things, but they attempted to make every single member have a purpose (and a more fleshed out personality) that didn't only matter until the final moments of the third act. Another gigantic snafu comes from what I can only assume was Zack Snyder's influence (he serves as executive producer here), and that is the grating, stupefyingly bad soundtrack that was added in during post-production. Similar to what that director decided to do with the false feminism disaster known as Sucker Punch, we are barraged with an endless amount of recognizable songs for nearly half of the film's length (it's enough to pack onto three LPs). I'm certain that this was meant to be their version of what Marvel's Guardians Of The Galaxy did with its unabashed love of songs from the 1970s and 1980s, but control is what separates those two pictures from one another. It's the movie equivalent of when your friend makes a sixty minute long playlist in iTunes, then proceeds to play every song on it for the first fifteen to twenty seconds before skipping to the next one. You just want to ask them to stop, take a breather, and remind them that you're starting to annoy every single person that you're trying to please. At the very least, they mercifully didn't play Ozzy Osbourne's "Crazy Train" during the Joker's introduction.


Speaking of the Oscar winner's portrayal as the Joker, I was really hoping that I would not have to discuss this or even type some of those sentences in the paragraph above. However, given that so much of the marketing has been built around seeing him pop up in the picture, it feels inevitable. I am open for different interpretations of a classic character, but given that nearly every incarnation of Batman's primary adversary has at least had the common decency to make him intimidating or even frightening, the decision to write this version of the Clown Prince of Crime as nothing more than an inked, irritating, wannabe Juggalo gangster does nothing but disappoint you in the end. It's a shame, as even with the more photos that were revealed during the buildup to this movie's release, I still had some faith that there would be some semblance of a good Joker buried underneath the platinum grills and horrendous tattoos. If fans and moviegoers are satisfied with this performance, more power to them. But I dreaded seeing him every time that he appeared in the movie's two hour running time, fearful that his overacting and poor mimicry of Heath Ledger was just going to increase my disappointment with the overall product.


I know that I am occasionally labeled by friends, cohorts, and familiars as being too fickle when it comes to reviewing flicks like Suicide Squad. On more than one occasion, I have been labeled a Marvel fanboy, which...well, I can't fully argue against (though I implore that you don't get me started on the recently released X-Men: Apocalypse). At the end of the day, for as much as I think that this is a wasted opportunity and just an all-around rubbish movie, I will come to its defense. While I am currently finishing my own review for this, there is a petition to get websites such as RottenTomatoes.com shut down, due to the backlash that Suicide Squad and its DC brethren have been receiving (thank you to fellow reviewer John Squires for hilariously pointing out that the movie's distributor owns the aforementioned site as well). In a time where nerds are seemingly divided over the silliest, and most trivial of things, I implore that you direct your rage towards those who truly deserve it.


And that, my fellow geeks, is Warner Bros. Please tell them to have confidence in their directors and their vision, even if it garners mixed reviews from fans and critics alike (I'd rather witness this bringing in 50/50 opinions, rather than 30/70). Tell them that going back to shoot additional scenes to make a picture more "lighthearted" or "amusing" isn't always necessary, and that by coupling that decision with the one to noticeably edit out material that feels like it is obviously crucial, can sometimes end up turning your release into an absolute mess, harming the franchise and box office numbers in the end. Tell them to not influence someone in such a way, that they end up going to a red carpet premiere, shouting "FUCK MARVEL!" at the top of their lungs out of what we assume is due to anger, frustration, jealousy, or a combination of all three. There isn't anything wrong with enjoying a nice bowl of pasta without having the need to drown it in shredded parmesan cheese and pounds of grounded black pepper, and yelling at the kitchen staff to bring out the next dish for your guest within five minutes isn't going to help matters either. You are allowed to take things slow. There isn't a need to catch up to Marvel Studios or Fox, as it isn't like these characters are going to be forgotten about tomorrow by the public at large. At this rate, I'm more scared for Wonder Woman and Justice League than I ever thought that I was going to be.



........Of course, I'll be there opening night for both though. I have nothing better to do these days.