I'm choosing to fill a small part of the gray area in my life with random reviews from the realms of cinema, music, and more things that are generally looked down upon by society. And you've chosen to read them apparently.
Normally, I'd save sequels to something that I JUST watched for a little bit later in the marathon, but seeing how much I enjoyed the first Sleepaway Camp, I figured that I could do a bit of reshuffling to keep my spirits high. Plus, both pictures are relatively quick watches, so squeezing two into one day shouldn't be a difficult task. Fair warning though: if you are still not "in the know" in regards to the first entry in this franchise, then I apologize for any spoilers that will be posted during portions of these reviews.
Five years have passed since the massacre at Camp Arawak, and after years of electroshock therapy (plus a sex change operation), culprit Angela Baker has been seemingly "rehabilitated" and released. She's accepted the position as a head counselor at Camp Rolling Hills, where she frequently clashes with the more open-minded and free-spirited attendees. Naturally, as most psychotic slasher movie villains do, she doesn't take kindly to this, and the slaughtering begins anew.
There are quite a few notable differences between Sleepaway Camp II: Unhappy Campers and its predecessor. The first is the lack of a mystery about who or what is contributing to the body count. The second, and most important aspect of this flick, is that its tone is nowhere near as dark as it was five years prior. Far more tongue-in-cheek and gleefully campy (pun possibly intended), I can only assume that this tonal change was due to the rights being sold by writer/director Robert Hiltzik. That, and considering how popular characters such as Freddy Krueger were at the time, perhaps those in charge were hoping that they too could strike gold if the chance was there. These decisions result in Sleepaway Camp II feeling more like a horror-comedy rather than a serious, if not somewhat tragic tale.
All of that being said, this change in direction is quite similar to what we saw during the time between The Evil Dead & Evil Dead II. What it may sacrifice in emotion or dread, it makes up for with sheer pandemonium and gruesome fun. Having grown up a bit, Angela (now portrayed by Pamela "Stop asking me about my brother" Springsteen) is letting her freak flag fly. She is in full-on delusion mode, and her odd, if not archaic sense of morals results in her committing some truly heinous acts of murder. There's far more variety (and volume) in the kills than before, and could make even hardened vets like myself gag a bit. If you are a germaphobe and hate outhouses, then you will absolutely detest one particular death in this film. Heck, Angela even gets to pay homage to Leatherface during one nighttime sequence, and that's just fabulous.
Most sequels won't set the world ablaze, but Sleepaway Camp II is still a perfectly cromulent time. Watching a psychotic transgendered woman kill annoying, disobedient teenagers is absolutely not PC and pretty rotten, but that's one of the many reasons as to why the slasher genre has such a devoted fanbase. If you've got the time to spare, this self-aware, silly cinematic ditty is available to stream on Amazon Prime, and to nobody's surprise, Scream! Factory has also released a Blu-ray for the public to buy.
It's 1989, and Angela Baker is on the run for her series of crimes that were committed at Camp Rolling Hills. Posing as a younger camper named Maria, she sneaks aboard the bus to the newly christened "Camp New Horizons," which even after a name change, will forever be known as her old stomping grounds. Upon arrival, she discovers that two counselors are attempting an experiment by coercing youths from different backgrounds and social circles to mingle with one another. Naturally, the quirks and traits from some of these young ruffians don't sit too well with Angela, and if you can't guess what happens next, then you haven't been reading this blog long enough.
Released one year after the second film (and filmed back to back with it over the course of six weeks), Sleepaway Camp III: Teenage Wasteland is a continuation of the style, substance, and tone that was found in that prior picture. Pamela Springsteen reprises her role as Angela, and while I admit that I do find her iteration of the character to be fairly funny, I did start to miss original actress Felissa Rose about halfway through this one. There have been reports that she tried out for Unhappy Campers, but was turned down due to not having the ability to deliver the comedic lines as well as they wanted. At the end of the day though, it doesn't detract from the quality of the movie. The rest of the cast is your typical gaggle of cliched stereotypes waiting to be offed, though I couldn't help but be weirded out to discover the presence of Academy Award nominee Michael J. Pollard (Bonnie and Clyde). Seeing him as a lecherous old man who loves to sleep with women a third his age is certainly something.
Much like film number two, SC3 is going more for slapstick than genuine chills or uneasy vibes, and it also packs in a lot of self-referential jokes and odes to pop culture. The head organizers of the event are named Herman and Lily, Angela has a dream sequence that is an obvious reference to a famous Oscar speech, and there's even a quick nod to Friday the 13th. I can also appreciate any flick that takes shots at the notion of casting people to play teenagers who are anything but close to that age range. Of course, that's fine and dandy, but what about the butchering you may ask? While the body count is lower than what was amassed in Unhappy Campers, Teenage Wasteland still sports some creative and wacky ways to dispose of people (the highlight being the usage of a flagpole). These flicks will likely never be in the same league as the more popular entries in the genre, but they can be happy knowing that they still make a mean punch in the death department.
As was the case with its forebear, Sleepaway Camp III: Teenage Wasteland is far from highbrow entertainment. You're likely to find more technically proficient motion pictures on this year's Unseen Terror, but if you're just looking for good, dumb, bloody fun, then you're in luck. Marathoning the three movies should make for a good use of a free day during the month, and with the right crowd surrounding you, Angela and her escapades will keep you entertained for at least a solid five hours. Yet again, this is available to stream on Amazon Prime, and can be purchased on Blu-Ray from Scream! Factory. Go get on that.
Tomorrow, I feel like I need to take a quick trip out of the 80s and tackle something a little more modern. Will I find something that gives me the willies, or will I be craving something a little undercooked?
A serial killer is on the loose in Los Angeles, having amassed a large body count in a surprisingly short amount of time. One detective, Lt. Don Parker, is close to discovering the individual's identity, while his foster son Jonathan has reported having strange visions and dreams which could reveal his face and whereabouts as well. When they appear to be getting closer, the killer begins to target, and even slay their loved ones. Eventually, the slasher, whose identity is revealed to be that of a deranged television repairman named Horace Pinker, is captured and sentenced to die in the electric chair. On the night of his execution, something seems to go awry. Yes, the madman doesn't go as quietly and quickly as he should, but what is more shocking is that while his physical body may cease to be, there is a possibility that he has survived and returned from beyond the grave using rather unconventional methods.
Let's not mince words here: Wes Craven, the dearly-departed and sorely missed legendary filmmaker who changed the horror game on more than a few occasions, will go down as arguably one of the top five (if not top three) directors in the genre. Hell, even some of his weaker efforts, though trashed by critics upon release, are still watchable and arguably undeserving of the thrashings that they received during their opening weekends (it can only be called an act of some greater deity that Cursed is still somewhat cohesive considering the hell that it went through). While determining which of his projects I could add to this year's marathon, I was admittedly having quite the difficult time. Then I noticed something rather unusual: I had never sat down to watch Shocker, the final film of his to be released during the 1980s. The likely result would be that either this little ditty would catch me by surprise the same way that his prior film did, or I would find it too boring for my taste like Deadly Blessing was.
Off the bat, you will notice that a large portion of Shocker's plot and overall demeanor is ripped straight from a very notable horror movie that also had Craven's name attached to it. Around this time period, the father of Freddy Krueger was not shy about speaking his mind when it came to the treatment of the Nightmare series (viewing the excellent Never Sleep Again documentary sheds more light on that). Despite writing and producing the third installment in that franchise, the signs were there that future sequels were going to become decidedly more comical, while toning down the genuine terror and uneasy feelings that came about from the initial film. It's understandable to feel that way, but while sitting through Shocker, it almost feels as though he was simultaneously making fun of New Line Cinema's practices while also succumbing to the problems that he was vocal about disliking. Because of it, Shocker's tone is all over the place. The jokes that litter most of its running time feel like leftovers from first drafts of fan-made Nightmare scripts, and the first third feels like it was aiming to be a genuinely chilling thriller with how much seriousness future X-Files standout Mitch Pileggi puts into his performance as Horace Pinker. I'd be very curious to hear about Wes Craven's writing process behind creating the script for this one.
Cast-wise everybody is actually fairly decent (keep your eye out for a Heather Langenkamp cameo), if not flat-out good considering the weird circumstances and picture that they are involved in. Peter Berg, who would go on to direct motion pictures such as Patriots Day and Hancock, makes for a sympathetic and lively protagonist, even if he is a near-carbon copy of Nancy Thompson from ANOES but with an added pair of testicles. He's a jock with a heart of gold and determination that never wanes during the entirety of Shocker, even if his sanity may begin to. I've already briefly touched on Pileggi's portrayal as our psychotic antagonist, so there isn't a great deal more than I can add to this. When he wants to be scary, the man can pull it off better than I expected him to. But when he has to go into slapstick mode, which comprises a large portion of the third act, he just isn't given the strongest of material to work with and lacks the same tongue-in-cheek charm that someone like Robert Englund naturally possesses. He's also a bit of an underwhelming murderer when it comes down to it, as his body count is significantly higher and more impressive when he was a living, breathing human being. Pinker does get a chance to partake in some amusing bits though, including taking control of a little girl and attempting to run Berg's character down with a construction vehicle. There is also an extremely silly addition to the plot of Shocker that begins before the second act kicks in and the overuse of heavy metal songs scattered throughout (Megadeth covering "No More Mr. Nice Guy" is a standout), and depending on your tolerance for absurd twists and technical aspects in horror films, you may find yourself laughing far more than you should. I for one felt as if I were channeling the great Rich Evans during certain scenes.
At the end of the day, Shocker is pretty stupid. But thankfully, it's a better shade of stupid, such as when you sit down to watch pictures like The Room or Pocket Ninjas with a group of friends and bring the finest of beverages with you (be they alcoholic or non). This 1989 flick is absolutely NOT the worst thing that Wes has his name attached to, but I personally wouldn't strongly recommend that you rush out and grab a copy unless you know what you are getting into or want to see the (possibly?) uncredited inspiration for the first segment of "Treehouse of Horror IX." If you would like to take that chance, however, Shout! Factory has released a Blu-ray of the movie for a surprisingly cheap amount of money, and there have been petitions online demanding that an unrated cut be released to the general public at some point during our lifetimes.
And at this point, it's probably got a better chance for an uncensored cut to hit the stores than The Devils does.
Tomorrow, we say hello to Brad Dourif again, but this time, his problems lie in the hands of something less human and more mechanical...
High school student Bill Whitney could not have a more ideal life. He is well-loved by most of his fellow students, dating one of the most attractive cheerleaders, has the position of future class president all but secured, and even drives the newest Jeep model that is out on the market. And yet even with all of these luxuries, Bill can't seem to shake this feeling that something isn't quite right with his personal life, and in particular, his upper class parents and their friends. Bill's suspicions are confirmed when the ex of his sister shows up with a tape of what sounds like his family members participating in something tawdry and unusually carnal. As time goes by, and every single shred of evidence of misbehaving seems to vanish just as quickly as it appeared, Bill begins to wonder if perhaps he is just crazy, or if, as they say, society really is to blame for everything.
Well then, it certainly didn't take long for an entry to appear that would absolutely mortify me, did it?
1989's Society is a motion picture that I admittedly only became aware of two or three years ago, and that was mostly through word of mouth and recommendations from friends who are most likely reading this right now. I was more than familiar with director Brian Yuzna's body of work, be it with a pen in his hand (Honey, I Shrunk the Kids, From Beyond), overseeing other's projects (Re-Animator, Dolls) or sitting down in the big chair himself (Return of the Living Dead III). The man always seemed like a very humble, unassuming human being, but after recently sitting through his directorial effort, I have to wonder if that is a front. Any living, breathing creature who would head a project like Society can not be normal. Or at the very least, they mask a much more demented sense of humor and large stash of psychedelics that have yet to be released to the public.
And if we are on the topic of that finale, I do not recall ever seeing a motion picture conclude in a way that it literally left me speechless for half of its final act. There is no possible way to describe it other than saying that special effects artist Screaming Mad George (Freaked, A Nightmare on Elm Street 4) must have been having the time of his life and should have received a complementary 24-pack of whatever beverage he wanted after filming had wrapped. One slight knock some might have against the film does involve its very....erm, slimy final twenty minutes though. Most of what the newer members of the general audience and cinephiles will remember are the big revelation of what has been going on and the absolute depravity that follows, but I can see complaints pile up that it is "boring" until those moments occur. It doesn't hurt the rest of Society's overall quality for someone like me who is used to these sort of things, but as I stated with my review for Prom Night, this kind of slow burn can be off-putting for others of the more "ADD" horror crowd. But hey, the joke is on them since there are some fairly funny bits of black humor and commentaries on still-relevant concepts, such as how silly we as a society (not apologizing for that) are for viewing things like party invites as being bigger priorities than your family possibly being murderers.
The controversy that follows Society around to this day is something that doesn't surprise me, but I am glad to see that over time, the flick has developed more of a following and appreciation for George and Yuzna's hard work on it. The men certain have an eye for distinct visuals and frequently help create things that you have never seen before. As such, this is the most elementary way to describe just what Society is; an over-the-top, bizarre satire about the battle between the rich and the poor, with a wrap-up that will very likely make you lose your lunch if you are unaccustomed to these sort of things. If you have a strong stomach and a very twisted sense of humor, Society is available to stream on Amazon Prime (its picture and audio quality are splendid too!). If you have a few more dollars to spend before the holidays approach, you can also purchase the slam-packed and bountiful Blu-Ray from Arrow Video.
Or perhaps, if your loved one is as truly demented as you are, they will buy a physical copy for you, and it will contain an invitation to one of these "social gatherings" that are held for the wealthier classes.
.....hey, I'm not knocking it until I try it.
Tomorrow, we jump forward a bit into the year 2017, and have two pint-sized baddies pay a visit to the blog.
I'm not going to lie: there were multiple options and choices that could have made their way onto the countdown for the day that commemorates my own date of birth. The temptation to venture out and compile a "Top 10" list for something like The Simpsons' "Treehouse of Horror" episodes was certainly there, as was discussing my favorite and least favorite remakes found within the genre itself. Then, I realized there was a crossover between the realm of terror and another longtime interest (that could arguably be considered a vice) that I had never touched on before: WCW's series of shows that were charmingly-dubbed Halloween Havoc.
For those of you (un)fortunate enough to know me for more than a few years, you should be fully well aware that I have an unabashed adoration and love for the wonderful, wacky, and often-times violent world of professional wrestling. During the years of 1989 and 2000, the now-defunct promotion known as World Championship Wrestling ran an annual Pay-Per-View titled Halloween Havoc, which was always guaranteed to take place as close to the holiday that it shares its namesake with. These shows have been notorious for featuring some absolutely great moments in the history of the sport (Bill Goldberg v. Diamond Dallas Page from 1998, Dean Malenko v. Rey Misterio Jr. in 1996), and others that are best left drowned with multiple bottles of moonshine (pretty much any match featuring Hulk/Hollywood Hogan as a featured attraction). During one particular day of reminiscing, I came to the realization that I have never watched the inaugural Havoc itself. And, given that this is my own blog and I can be allowed to stray from the path once in a while, I figured heck, let's give this a try. Also, I must apologize for any spoilers, but there's a good chance that most who decide to read about this one will be fairly apathetic towards wrestling anyway.
Taking place at the long-gone Philadelphia Civic Center in front of a crowd of 7,300 paying customers, we kick off the show with the voices of a very young Jim Ross, who damn near any fan of the sport will be able to identify within a span of three seconds, and Bob Caudle of NWA fame. My familiarity with the latter is admittedly very poor, but he plays the role of the classic announcer fairly well, choosing to take no side before, during, or after the matches. It is during this introduction where I noticed that the immortal Gordon Solie (Georgia Championship Wrestling) has been relegated to working as a backstage interviewer for this PPV, which seems like the biggest of insults.
Opener: Mike Rotunda (sporting a sketchy mustache) vs The Z-Man
This one had the potential to either surprise or bore me to death. Unfortunately, I think it fell closer into the second category, as the performers themselves just do not have good in-ring chemistry with one another. Younger fans will recognize Rotunda as both evil tax collector Irwin R. Schyster (I.R.S.....what subtlety these companies had) and the father of current WWE signees Bray Wyatt and Bo Dallas. His opponent is Tom Zenk, who despite facing the former caption of the evil stable known as "The Varsity Club" (he's still sporting their initials on his attire), the crowd can't seem to decide if they like or not. Personally, I've always been fairly indifferent to the former Can-Am Connection partner. Is he talented? Sure. Did he scream main card attraction? Well, if you happen to dig people who appear as though they came out of the first floor of the "create-a-wrestler" factory, then perhaps. As for the match itself, it's an affair that lasts for nearly fifteen minutes, with some of the only highlights coming from Zenk hitting a very nice-looking modified arm drag, Rotunda kneeing him in the balls in plain view of the ring official (which apparently does not warrant a disqualification), and the future taxman aggressively tossing the thirty-year-old to the concrete floor, which elicits the loudest reaction of the match. Its end comes from Rotunda landing a diving cross body into a pin, though Zenk just flips him over and racks up the win. At this point on, I was fully convinced that the crowd's noise towards the end came from remembering what was to come after this.
Before our second contest for the evening, we are treated to an interview with wrestling icon Bruno Sammartino, who will be officiating tonight's main event. I often forget that following his nasty fallout with Vince McMahon and the World Wrestling Federation, he did make the occasional appearance for another brand or two. Admittedly, I also clearly couldn't remember how much of an Easter Island head he has as well.
2nd Match: "Dr. Death" Steve Williams & The Midnight Express (w/ Jim Cornette)
vs
The Samoan Swat Team & The Samoan Savage (w/ Big Kahuna)
The white meat, rambunctious good guys from the U.S.A. taking on three Samoan-Americans who are being portrayed as nearly-uncontrollable Neanderthals? Noooo, wrestling has always been racially sensitive you silly goose. In a card that is full of strange bookings and pairings, perhaps the oddest thing to behold is seeing longtime heel Jim Cornette acting like a lively, babyface cheerleader. Opposite of him is Big Kahuna, the newest nickname of underrated 1980s accomplice Sir Oliver Humperdink. Amusingly enough, my only memorable exposure to the Pepsi version of Captain Lou Albano was seeing him as a joyous, happy manager during his very brief tenure in another big name promotion that was owned by someone with the initials VKM.
One of the very first things I noticed about this came from how astonishingly young the Swat Team (who would later be repackaged as The Headshrinkers in WWF) look. The future Rikishi (who shares the same day of birth as I do) was wrestling for the big boys by the time that he was only twenty-four, and unlike his partner, he isn't sporting a housewife/Miss Elizabeth perm during the match. Despite the "foreign" team being advertised as a legitimate danger to deal with, a good chunk of the match's offense goes to the team of Stan Lane, Bobby Eaton, and Williams. Speaking of the latter, it isn't hard to see that this crowd views the former All-American as the main attraction here. He is built like a brick shithouse, acts just as tough as he looks, and is treated like he is a tier above everybody else inside of the arena. Sadly, it still didn't protect him from Bart Gunn's fists of fury. Though it does feature a relatively lame conclusion (and a cringe-inducing botched neckbreaker from the usually reliable Stan Lane), it was more far more enjoyable than our opener.
3rd Match: The Cuban Assassin vs "Wildfire" Tommy Rich
We are lucky enough to be treated to an interview with Terry Funk and his manager Gary Hart. Technically, it happens right before this clash begins, but I feel that it deserves a special mention because these two are just a hoot to listen to. The hardcore icon says that he is going to start a new dance called the "10,000 watt boogie," and will introduce fried chicken to the audience after they push Ric Flair against an electrified fence. You just don't make promos like these anymore, though perhaps that is simultaneously good and bad.
Another reason as to why I decided to have that precede the review of this match was because of how atrocious this was. With all due respect, Rich is in terrible shape here, looking like he spent most of his paychecks on purchasing cheeseburgers topped with fried oreos. Truth be told, neither of these two men is an Adonis specimen, but given the very faint chant of "Tommy Rich Sucks" that I heard, I believe that physical appearances would have been irrelevant anyway. Clocking in at under nine minutes, the only non-boring aspect comes from the finish, which involves Rich landing a Lou Thesz Press (utilized later by Steve Austin and Randy Orton) and turning it into a pin. I know for a fact that both men can do better than this, but this felt like a relic from the 1960s that should have stayed buried. Don't waste your time.
4th Match: The Dynamic Dudes (w/ Jim Cornette)
vs
(C) The Fabulous Freebirds for the NWA Tag Team Championship
Though I know that I have a plethora of friends who have fond memories related to them, I will stir up the pot a bit here: The Dynamic Dudes are awful. Mind you, not as in-ring performers, but the gimmick is so unbelievably dumb that it was no wonder they were booed in Philly (and this was BEFORE the rowdy crowds of ECW started turning up). I'm sure WCW's Executive Vice President Jim Herd thought that they were going to be adored, but if your tag team can't even ride the skateboards that they jog to the ring with, then you are just asking for trouble. At the very least, Shane Douglas can breathe easy knowing that in less than ten years' time, he will be able to convince the crowd to eat out of his hands when he is rebranded as "The Franchise." Despite my immense dislike for Michael Hayes as a person, he and Jimmy Garvin are just fantastic here. No matter what the heels do, this gathering is ecstatic to see them in their own city, and cheer during every single cheap shot thrown by the duo. There are several spots of comical selling by the man later renamed "Dok Hendrix," and several chants for the wrestling maneuver known as the DDT. Yes, I know that the man most famously affiliated with it didn't actual invent the move, but it still weirds me out to hear a crowd call for that finisher whenever he isn't around. Johnny Ace, a.k.a. John Laurinaitis (yes, that one) manages to pull off a nice duel headscissors takedown on the Freebirds, but once the heels are ousted from the ring because of it, he is drowned with jeers and hatred by the Philadelphia crowd yet again. This very entertaining scrap wraps up after Garvin gets the pin off of a botched atomic drop from both members of the DD.
We move on to a backstage discussion with Rick Steiner and brother Scott, who in the future, will be the go-to name once somebody thinks of the term "Roidy McGoo." The Steiner Brothers' mic skills have always been....well, unique, and they even flub this promo at first, with Rick just kinda rambling on afterwards. If they wished to give the impression that he may, in fact, be mildly retarded, then you passed that test with flying colors. When asked about what will happen if previous accomplice Woman makes the conscious choice to interfere in the match, he implies that he is going to grab her and choke her out. Yikes. Eerily prophetic anyone?
5th Match: The Steiner Brothers (w/ a GREAT entrance theme)
v.
Doom (w/ Woman)
For those curious, Doom, who were making their PPV debut here, are the masked team of "The Natural" Butch Reed and future WWE Hall of Famer Ron "Faarooq" Simmons. Much like their opponents, they are yoked, muscular titans. Mercifully, the African American duo would lose their disguises not long after this, and they were lucky enough to avoid being attached to any gimmick such as, say, a pair of wrestling slaves. Keep it classy southern promoters. Several minutes in, commentator Jim Ross divulges a funny conversation that he had with Rick Steiner that relates to the babyface's newest bulldog tattoo on his arm.
Ross: You got a new tattoo! Why didn't get something like a wolverine?
Rick: Because I wanted a dog.
Ross: Well, why didn't you just BUY a dog?
The Oklahoma native also mentions that before his brother convinced him to join the wonderful, wacky world of wrestling, Scott was supposed to become a school teacher. Though such a dream will sadly never come to fruition, I can certainly imagine what it would sound like.
All jokes aside, something just doesn't seem to gel here. Perhaps it was the jitters from new arrivals Doom, or the nervousness about following the previous tag match. This surprisingly boring affair ends with Woman sneaking something into one of her performers' masks behind the referee's back, which they use to headbutt and knock out Rick with, leading to a pinfall. All four of these men are supremely skilled, but perhaps watching their rematch down the line for the tag belts (and the Steiners' own feud with the Freebirds) would have made for a better viewing choice.
Lex Lu---erm, excuse me. To quote the lads over at OSWreview.com, time for an interview with YER BOI LEX LUGER, a.k.a. the future NARCISIST. Though nowhere near as jacked as he would be later on in his career, he is just as arrogant. But for the love of god, look at Gordon Solie for even just a second when you're talking. I believe that the best promos conducted during pre-recorded segments should have equal amounts of time dedicated to staring at the camera and the correspondent.
6th Match: Brian Pillman (w/ cheerleader section and a very thrashy entrance song)
vs
(C) Lex Luger for the United States Championship
Oh man, if you can not get behind seeing this duo face each other in their prime, then you may need to check your pulse. "Flyin" Brian is in phenomenal shape here, and it's a damn shame that drugs and injuries shortened his career before he passed eight years later. For those who complain about the forced, obnoxious push of guys like Roman Reigns, I would politely ask that you need to shut your mouth and pay attention to how much fellating the 1994 Royal Rumble co-winner received during the late 1980s. Having only been competing in the sport for a mere four years at this point, he had already held this prestigious title three times, and our beloved commentary team make it a point to continuously rain praise upon him when he's doing even the most basic of moves like a running clothesline or picking Pillman up to drop him on the ropes throat first. On the positive end of the spectrum, he seems to be relishing portraying a pseudo-tweener during this time period. My eye-rolling aside, the two take some time to find their footing and chemistry with one another, and end up turning in a solid middle-of-the-card matchup (save for an awkward ending). It's a damn shame that neither of these men are in the WWE's Hall of Fame, as they have long been deserving of it (the same can be said of the Steiner Brothers).
Our second-to-last backstage meeting involves Paul Ellering and his clientele, the legendary Road Warriors. Though the articulate and intelligent manager is just sort of hanging in the shadows behind Hawk, all three are just so fucking great at doing their job.
7th Match: The Skyscrapers (w/ Theodore "Teddy" Long)
vs
The Road Warriors (w/ Paul Ellering)
Hey playa! The renowned Smackdown General Manager comes out first, accompanying a rather monstrous-looking team comprised of Sid "Don't Call Me Psycho Just Yet" Vicious and Dan "Please Don't Bring Up Waylon Mercy" Spivey. As intimidating as they may look, they aren't The Legion of Doom, who come out to an instrumental, looping version of Black Sabbath's "Iron Man." In a peculiar observation, the new heels actually dwarf the NWA veterans, but that doesn't seem to bother them whatsoever. As the contest began, I managed to type "If they know what's good for them, this ought to be booked mostly as a straight up brawl with tons of no-selling." Well, I am glad that late-80s WCW knew their audience rather well. Sid and Dan (who looks like Kiefer Sutherland's character from The Lost Boys, but with even worse hair) show some potential, with the former even kipping up from his back at one point to attack Hawk. Cheekily, the commentators state that "when they attack them, the Skyscrapers don't move," which immediately leads to Animal knocking Vicious to the ground with a strong-looking tackle. Though it was far from being considered a technical marvel, this bout makes for hellacious amusement. It's the type of competition that your family thinks of when you mention being a fan of this over-the-top sport. Sadly, the fun comes to a screeching halt, as Teddy Long tosses a giant metal key for his team to utilize as a weapon, which leads to a disqualification. For as much as I respected the Road Warriors for their contributions to the business, their frequent inability to lose clean did annoy me quite a bit. I mean, would losing to a couple of gigantic newcomers have hurt their stock in the long run? Hell, even Chris Jericho lost to Fandango, and that took place at WRESTLEMANIA.
By this point, I have come to the conclusion that despite the branding, there has been little in the way of Halloween-themed material at this event. Perhaps the only thing could be constituted as "scary" has been Sid Vicious' angry faces and massive shoulders. That, and the mere thought of Vince McMahon watching the last two tag team contests while furiously masturbating. So, will there be anything interesting related to my favorite month for the final thirty minutes?
8th/Final Match: Sting & Ric Flair (w/ Ole Anderson)
vs
Terry Funk & The Great Muta (w/ Gary Hart) in a Thunderdome match.
During several points of the fight, Flair hits Funk with a knife edge chop that looked like it was powerful enough to cave a hole in a human being's chest. Sting is quite popular with the Philly crowd as well, who are thoroughly on board with the good guys during this timed exchange. Towards the end, Ric locks the Funkster in a Figure Four Leg Lock, with his surfin', do-goodin' partner landing repeated top rope slashes to the psychotic one's upper body while he is fearing for the safety of his legs. Muta, who at this point had just been acting uppity towards our guest ref, attempts to attack the WWWF legend, and gets decked for his actions. With managers Gary Hart and Ole Anderson both now in the ring, the latter hits the former hard enough that his own towel is accidentally tossed towards Bruno. Not even questioning as to whether it was a genuine surrender and admittance of defeat, it concludes with the longtime rivals (but then-current allies) raising their hands in victory.
In terms of sheer silliness, 1989's Halloween Havoc could have been far worse, yet is ultimately just remarkably average when you collect all of your thoughts and opinions into a single, discernable one. Aside from the Rich & Assassin match, nothing repulsed me or gave me a headache. In fact, maybe I should make it a habit to do more of these in my spare time! Alas, that shall depend on how much, if any free time that I will have coming up during these next few months. If you have a small allowance of $9.99, you can watch this debut PPV from WCW on the WWE's own streaming service.
Now, if you want me to review a truly terrifying special involving professional wrestling, then I should add THIS bad boy to my list for next year.
Tomorrow, it's back to business as usual, as we tackle another entry in the natural horror field that is often derided by even its own director.....though if luck is on my side, we may see another appearance from a more infamous goliath with far more hype behind him....
During a low-key evening at the local supermarket, cashier Jennifer Ross is preparing to close her till, only to be suddenly approached by her ex-boyfriend Craig Peterson. The man has been recently released from prison, having served time for a rather serious crime, and as the two begin to argue, the night crew appear and break up a potential scuffle between the former lovers. Calls to the police are made, and as Craig seemingly disappears into the night, the group prepares for their standard procedure of closing down and restocking the store. As shifts end, however, someone appears to be watching from the sides, with vengeance and bloodshed seemingly on their mind.
By the late 1980s, the quality of motion pictures categorized as "Slashers" had, to put it lightly, taken a bit of a nosedive. Sure, established moneymakers like A Nightmare On Elm Street, Friday the 13th, and Halloween were still going strong (and would do so going into the next decade), but originality and creativity had taken a backseat so that cheap thrills could take top priority. By the end of the decade, director Scott Spiegel (more well known for co-writing horror/comedy classic Evil Dead II) had concocted a screenplay for a gory little flick set inside of a supermarket, which was admittedly, a claustrophobic scenario that didn't appear too often. After their first choice for a director didn't pan out, he sat down in the chair himself, so that he would head the somewhat obscure Intruder, though lord knows the final product's life past its initial release date didn't come without some issues.
My first glimpse of Intruder came from observing the cover for its 2011 release on Blu-Ray. Apparently, I'm extremely lucky to have seen only this, since along with the poster I inserted above the synopsis, it's the most appropriate image one should have released to the public, as every other banner and trailer is rife with the revelation of the mysterious killer's identity. I have always been baffled by choices such as these. It's the equivalent of making a poster for King Kong, but having the words "HE'S SHOT AND FALLS FROM THE EMPIRE STATE BUILDING" pasted above the title. Also confusing is the choice to list Bruce Campbell, Ted Raimi, and Sam Raimi (all of Evil Dead II fame themselves) as the main characters on nearly every single print prior to the Blu-Ray's street date. My apologies to those who wanted there to be as little spoilers as possible for this year's blog, but for the sake of saving some money for the diehards who may have only waning interested because of "Ash" being in anything else, the former's role is nothing more than a glorified cameo towards the end, and the brothers Raimi serve as nothing but minor support for the time that they are present.
As for the quality of Intruder? Well, it's decent enough for something that was once a part of the often-maligned "dead teenagers" genre (props to the late Roger Ebert for that one), but don't expect too much to blow you away. Elizabeth Cox makes for a fairly okay heroine, though outside of having a boyfriend who was rather insane, we don't get to know a great deal about her. The rest of the cast is filled with red herrings, burnouts, old timers, and even another female performer (Renee Estevez of Heathers fame). None of them are worth writing about for too long, but they aren't particularly bad given the simplicity of the script. Perhaps the one shining spot are some of the actual killings perpetrated by our unseen assailant. Actually, I should retract that. They WOULD have been a highlight if I had realized that I was watching the theatrical cut beforehand, which is so dumbed down that you could honestly classify it as a PG-13 horror movie. On subsequent home video releases, the murders are reportedly restored to what the filmmakers initially wished had seen the light of day, but unless you're willing to shell out some extra money from your paycheck for the "Unrated" iteration of Intruder, you will have to settle for watching these deleted slayings on sites such as Youtube. It's a damn shame too, especially when you see that Greg Nicotero (The Walking Dead), Robert Kurtzman (From Dusk Til Dawn), and Howard Berger (Army Of Darkness) all had a hand in the makeup department, and censoring or editing sequences featuring their work just feels like a rotten thing to do.
Intruder is certainly worth a watch, but going into this with as little information as possible should be the only way to approach it. Paramount's own marketing may have done the film in for some, and the missing five minutes of gore hurt it far more than it should have. Still, it's competently acted and acceptably fun for when you have an evening alone to yourself, or some extra cash to spare for an expensive blind buy. For the time being, you can rent the theatrical cut on Amazon Prime for about $2.99, view it on noted streaming service Hulu, or track down and purchase the unrated version from Synapse Films.
Tomorrow, the 1980s have come to close, but a rising star/author named Clive Barker isn't quite done with scaring the hell out of moviegoers...
Young Casey suffers from coulrophobia, a severe fear of clowns, and is constantly heckled by his older brothers for it. After their mother decides to travel out of town to visit relatives, the boys decide to visit the circus for a night of fun, where Casey is warned of impending danger by a fortune teller. While the boys are traveling home, three mental patients from a nearby asylum have escaped, and subsequently murder three clowns from the circus. Donning their makeup, costumes, and identities, the trio sets about to terrorize the young boys and make their night a living hell.
While I don't share the same universal hatred and fear for clowns that every other friend of mine seems to, I'm not too fond of them myself. I do recall a memorable summer spent in Ocean City, Maryland watching Stephen King's It with a friend, and having it scare the absolute crap out of me, but outside of that, their expressionless faces and demeanors never really perturbed me. Perhaps watching Doink the Clown wrestle for so long in the WWF nullified that. Still, this one did intrigue me. I like two thirds of Victor Salva's 2001 horror effort Jeepers Creepers, but was wondering why something didn't quite sit right with me the entire time I was watching this.
It was pretty clear that Salva wanted to make something that the younger or teenage market could get a kick out of, or at least be scared of, maybe in the same vein of films like the previously reviewed The Gate. This finished product doesn't entirely work though, due to the relatively flat performances from the three leads (which includes a debuting Sam Rockwell), and the fact that most of Clownhouse's scares feel more harassing in nature than like actual scares. Nothing really ends up happening once these mental patients decide to wear their makeup and clown suits, as there isn't even enough blood to fill up a gallon of milk, and the body count only ends up at a whopping count of two when all is said and done. How this was rated R, I have no earthly idea.
Ah, but then curiosity got the better of me, so I decided to venture to IMDB. As it turns out, Mr. Salva, as interesting as his resume might be (which also includes the 1995 film Powder), sexually abused the lead actor who played Casey in this film (Nathan Forest Winters). He served fifteen months of a three-year term and was released on parole, though Winters came forward again in 1996 after Powder was released, asking as to why Disney would pick up a film by a man like Salva. Since then, the director has had great difficulty finding work in Hollywood, save for the Jeepers Creepers films, which is understandable considering he is a fucking child molester. This unfortunate fact isn't easy to ignore upon viewing the first third of the movie either, given the repeated, unnecessary shots of two of the lead boy actors in the their underwear, or baring complete skin. My guess is that Salva thought Rockwell was "too old" for him at the time, the gross bastard. I felt like an utter pervert in need of several showers after I saw all of the these scenes, and reminding myself of the now-infamous story. You could have cut every single one of these shots out, and nothing of value would have been lost.
Technically, Clownhouse isn't a bad movie whatsoever, as the camerawork is fine, the score isn't particular weak, and I've viewed far worse films this season, but that stench of pedophilia during its production is nearly impossible to clean off. It puts the ixnay on any potential, real recommendation, even for fans of "killer clown" films, especially since I said that nearly nothing happens throughout its running time. Well, outside of the defenestration of one clown, which is admittedly kind of cool. To companies like Shout Factory, who I'm sure have been receiving numerous requests to put films such as this out on Blu-Ray for future release (the DVD is out of print): don't pay any attention to this one, as Victor Salva doesn't deserve any.
Tomorrow, we're up a decade and getting a littler shakier with THE FRIGHTENERS!
