Horror

Tetsuo: Iron Man

BigSugar — Mon, 29 Sep 2008 19:08:03 -0700

By now most of you out there have heard of the Fleshlight, but if you haven't, it's basically a flashlight filled with foam rubber, then dug out in the shape of a vag. What you do is, you squirt some KY in that bastard, then stick your dick in it and jerk off. I'm holding out for stem cell research to develop a cod-piece that has an organic pussy in it. Strap that fucker on, wear it to work, then just throw your hips around a little and voila, cumshot on the sly. Take it home, douche it out, maybe feed it a cracker or two, and it's ready for the next day.

Yes, this is the line of thinking that occurs after watching this movie.

Here's the deal; a guy tries sticking metal into his body, then hits another cat while on a Sunday drive with his girlfriend, then the first cat transforms into a metal/flesh beast and dukes it out with the second cat, the one who he hit with his car. A lot of "What The Fuck?" mayhem ensues.

Back in '92 (I think), a Premiere magazine had a list of flicks that were making the rounds at festivals and some new videos that had come out, all of the connected by the what-the-fuck factor. The list looked something like this; El Mariachi, Reservoir Dogs, Bad Lieutenant, Meet the Feebles, Hard Boiled, and Tetsuo: Iron Man. I made solemn promise to myself that I would watch every one of those fucking movies if it killed me. It damn-near did.

So, at the top of the flick, our hero slashes a nasty, ragged hole in his thigh, then shoves a piece of steel rebar into the gaping wound. He wraps it up, then unwraps it later, only to be horrified by the maggots crawling around in it. Yes folks, there's no shortage of subtlety in this one.

Essentially, this is just a horror tone poem about the slow mechanization of the human condition. It took me reading roughly twenty scholarly articles in Film Comment and Film Quarterly to figure that nugget out. While you're watching this fucker, you can forget about high-minded criticism. You'll be lucky to get out with your skull merely fractured.

This one is pure cinema. A masterful little jaunt that visually and aurally assaults your face like a Kong dick blasting paisley, cotton-candy cum all over you. The camera work and the images draw you in and hold you down making the whole film feel like a prolonged instance of rubbernecking at a really nasty accident. One with meat spread out on the road like chunky peanutbutter. And the best part of all? The cat who made this flick did almost all of it on his own. Director, writer, lead actor, D.P., make-up effects, camera operator, editor Shinya Tsukamoto decided he was going to, By-Crom's-Bones, make a fucking movie and so he did. A Goddamned fierce one to boot. The images the man got o his 16mm camera (you're welcome, Meredith) land fucking deep, baby. Metalic zits to drill-bit dicks, I promise the taste of this one will fucking move you. What?

Get it and love it.

Save Yourselves,

'Nuff Sugar

Hellbound: Hellraiser II

BigSugar — Sat, 12 Jul 2008 16:07:27 -0700

There are very few moments in which I can be accused, rightly so, of horror movie heresy. This flick is one of them.

Here's the deal; picking up a few hours after the events of the first flick, Kirstie is back on the trail of her father while while a completely bugfuck headshrinker, Channard, gets all horny to fuck Kirstie's stepmom and find out what the Cenobites are up to. Psychosexual mayhem ensues.

Clive Barker's original Hellraiser was the late-Eighties benchmark for horror when the genre was well on its way to hybernation. Slasher flicks and Stephen King disasters had all but run horror movies into the ground. Then along came Clive and nothing would be the same. Saying all of that to say that I love the first film, but this one's the bees knees to me. We get a backstory for Pinhead, some gore that was cut from the first film, the ever fuckable Ashley Laurence and, though I hate admitting it, my first boner for a M.I.L.F. in Clare Higgins. Like all good horror films, the flick starts off in shit-bat overdrive and lets up a little only when it has to. There's a little bit of a sag in the midsection, but it's made up for by having EZ's and my nightmare vision of Hell; a room in which naked chicks cavort under a sheet of silk, only to disappear right when you're ready to get down to business time. That's Hell, baby. We also get some "rules" for the cenobites as well as the made-from-Scratch birth to death of the Channard cenobite, and Pinhead gets a ton more screen time. Did I mention Ashley Laurence?

And for those reasons, this flick is better to me than the first. Anybody that's got a problem with that, I'd love to debate it. I don't think that it's a better film technically, but, not unlike The Empire Strikes Back, the mythology is deepened and the characters are given a layer of complexity past what they got in the first film. Also, it's got more blood. And Christopher Young's masterpiece of a score. It's one of those movies that takes the ball and runs hard down the field with it.

Now Clive himself calls the film "uneven." I don't know what the fuck that means, so I can niether support or deny this claim, but he seems to say it in a derrogatory way, so, take that for what it is. So, here's where the heresy part comes in; if you're gonna do remakes and I can't stop you, well then remake this one. It's probably even more relevant now that it was two decades ago, and having that many years in advancements in technology will give those few shoddy visuals a chance to be redone with a digital spin. Leviathan would be a hard-on inducing sight done well, and we all know it.

Get it and love it.

Save Yourselves,

'Nuff Sugar

Friday the Thirteenth

BigSugar — Mon, 30 Jun 2008 10:22:28 -0700

Ahhh, the boys of summer are swiniging the ol' lumber, the air
smells of Coppertone and the bitches are stuffing Maraschino cherries
up their asses in Panama City. Summer's here. Time to dust
off an old standard.

Here's the deal: fuck it, man, if you don't
already know the story, empty your drool cup, turn on the Teletubbies
and leave the rest of us alone, asshole.

Halloween built the mold, but Friday the Thirteenth
put it into mass production. Seven sequels, thousands of
knock-offs and a decade later, we all got bored with it, but in the
summer of Anno Domini 1980, Sean Cunningham and Tom savini shot to
super-stardom in the hearts and minds of horror fans 'round the fucking
globe. A tiny, independent movie packed with naked hotties, edged
weapons and as much fake blood as the fellas could muster took the
nation's paying audience by storm and created the framework for the
horror movie franchise. Yes, folks, it all started here.

It's
not a perfect movie by any stretch of the imagiantion. Some
scenes look as though Ray fucking Charles lit them and once you know
the tricks that Savini was up to, it's not all that hard to see the
seams in the make-up. For many, it won't hold up to muliple
viewings. But for those out there like me, it's aged almost
perfectly and become one of those flicks that we keep coming back to,
like the swallows to Capastrano, or a Thai hooker to a fat American
businessman. It's comfortable and always pays off.

I have
many a theory as why this film was so popular in spite of its
shortcomings. Most of them are tied tightly to dickless critic
fucks like Siskel and Ebert. But almost thirty years on, I find
the charms of this little confection to have matured nicely. It's
got chicks in bikinis so small you could find the clitoris without
removing a single stitch, that alone makes it worth at least one solid
viewing a summer. I could've lived my whole life without seeing
Kevin Bacon in Speedo, but fuck it. Mix in some throat slashings
and an axe to the face and you've got a perfect way to pass a rainy
summer afternoon.

Get it and love it.

Save Yourselves,

'Nuff Sugar

Bad Taste

BigSugar — Sun, 29 Jun 2008 21:41:39 -0700

Dereks don't run, motherfuckers!!!!

Here's the deal; a
corporate contigent of aliens have landed in a small New Zealand town
and have sliced and diced all the inhabitants thereof, propmting the
government to send in a crew of fuck-ups to deal with the
situation. Sick, sick, gory-assed mayhem ensues.

For some
reason, Peter Jackson has been named geek butt-boy of late. Joblo
and Aintitcool are fucking swarming with the Johnny-come-lately
attitude that usaully follows when someone makes some really good
movies then fucks up royally (King King. Three
hours. What else can I say). But, lest we all forget,
Jackson all but ass-fucked us right out of the gate with this cute,
cuddly little slice of kiddie flick. Yeah, this was his lead-off
hitter. He pointed like the Babe, and then snapped this flick off
all over our collective faces. Brass fucking balls,
fuck-sticks, that's what that was.

The first five minutes of this
flick have a guy getting the top of his head literally blown off.
And his brains slop out all over the shooter's "strides." From
there, well, you'll just have to watch it. Suffice it to say that
if you don't laugh your ass off at this flick, it's time to lock the
doors, bolt the windows, drive an internet connection into your temple
and dowload porn straight into your cerebral cortex untill your dick
blows up. The show's basically over for you.

Now there's
plenty to tear apart with this flick. Continuity is all but
absent and if you're looking for smooth editing, try elsewhere.
That said, none of it will matter. If you've ever laughed out
loud at Monty Python, this is basically that amped past 11. Each
and every shortcoming is more than made up for by sheer insanity of the
sweet-holy-fuck-did-I-just-see-that? variety. If you've got a gag
reflex at all something in this flick will trip it. The "chuck"
swallowing scene did me in, does it every time. As I told someone
long ago, there's plenty of cheese, but it's just enough to cover the
meat here.

If you're a fan of Lord of the Rings and would
like to know how Peter Jackson kicked it all off, here it is. If
you're one of those lip-flapping fucks who likes to jump on the
bandwagon du jour, please watch it again and just shut the fuck
up. Raw desire and talent got this cat on the big stage, and I
can't vouch for anything in the future, but this one gives me hope for
all times. If the cat that did this one can get to the Big Show,
anybody can. So say we all.

Get it and love it.

'Nuff Sugar.

Evil Dead 2: Dead By Dawn

BigSugar — Sat, 14 Jun 2008 19:13:35 -0700

I've discovered, much to my dismay, that there are actually people
alive, drawing good air into their fucking lungs, who've never seen
this flick. Those motherfuckers are the reason terrorists exist.

Here's
the deal; total dumbass, Ash, drags his bitch deep into the woods for
some nook-nook to a cabin where they discover tape recorded demon
ressurrection passages and, of course, they play the fucking
tape. Demon possession mayhem ensues. Then ensues some
more. Then gets to really fucking ensuing. Then just keeps
on ensuing.

Let me say this right off the bat; if you haven't
seen this movie, don't even bother trying to talk to me.
Seriously, go fuck yourself until you watch this one. There's
just no excuse. Not knowing this flick is, to me, the rough
equivalent of not knowing how to fuck. To me, this one is up
there with Jaws or The Godfather.
Unfuckingtouchable. And if you want to make independant films,
hell if you want to make movies at all, get to stepping
motherfucker. There's no good reason why this movie isn't in
regular rotaion on your DVD player.

This is Sam Rami's
masterpiece. Period. I know there is a small minority who
feel the first one is better and an even smaller group who feel that Army of Darkness
is better. Given my druthers, the populations of both those camps
would be shaved, sterilized and fucking destroyed. Neither of
those flicks- hell, no other movie in the history of film- has the
sheer insane velocity and wacked-out psychotic humor of this one.
Not fifteen minutes into the movie, one half of the onscreen characters
are beheaded, resurrected, and skull fucked with a chainsaw. And it gets even crazier from there!

While
the story itself is off-the-wall batshit, let's not forget that
everything else in play works like a champ here as well. Bruce
Campbell became a cult hero after this flick, and the character of Ash
is no less indelible than Indiana Jones or Michael Corleone. That
square-jawed fuck managed to make an idiot so beloved that, to this
day, he remains a geek hero of the highest order. The special f/x
are top-notch as well, representing Mark Shostrom's best work ever and
some of KNB's A-level efforts as well. Possessed Henrietta and
and the severed hand will forver be in my Top 10 F/X moments if for no
other reason than the fact that both have a character and story arc as
well as a fine sense of humor.

I'll be the first to admit
that Rami's career has spun right the fuck out of control, or into it,
depending on your point of view. But let's not forget that the
motherfucker gave us this one. He wants to make a three hour Spiderman, fine. Let him. Fuckit, the guy made Evil Dead 2.
But there will always be a piece of me that longs for him to get back
to what made him the hotshot that he is today. And while he may
make comicbook and baseball movies for the rest of his life, he'll
always be the guy who popped out a demon's eye and dropped it into a
girl's mouth to me. Open up and say AAAAAHHHHHHH, bitches!

Get it and really, really, really fucking love it!

Save Yourselves,

'Nuff Sugar

Donkey Punch

Brendan Morrisey — Mon, 09 Jun 2008 16:52:21 -0700

Alright, here's a movie I saw at Sundance back in January that I never got around to reviewing since I started getting lazy. I just saw the trailer up on joblo so I decided what the hell, I'll talk about it anyway. Especially since most people who know what a donkey punch is are going to be wondering, what the fuck is this movie is all about and how and why is there a donkey punch involved?

Well here's the deal, a trio of three young British women are vacationing in Spain when they run into a group of guys who've got their own yacht. The girls are invited on board to hang out, party, take some bong hits, and of course hit the sack. When the girls are asked what's the craziest thing they've ever done in the bedroom, someone brings up the donkey punch. What the fuck is a donkey punch some of you say? Well, its when you punch a woman in the back of the neck while you're fucking her from behind right before you climax, which I guess is supposed to tighten her vaginal walls and make the experience more enjoyable.

Only one of these bitches is crazy enough to be up for this thing, only problem is the dude punches her way too hard, breaks her neck, and now we got a dead body on board.

The guys want to do their best to cover it up, while the women refuse. It now becomes a battle between boys vs girls followed by typical moral dillemas and more dead bodies.

This is nothing that is going to be groundbreaking in the horror genre. Nothing really scarey, nor really even shocking. The donkey punch scene was hysterical in my opinion, but 10% of the audience seemed to disagree when they walked out right when all the sex started. The girls weren't really all that attractive either besides the lead protagonist who was the Jamie Lee Curtis type good girl character who didn't get banged by anyone anyway. The best reason to see this movie is a couple of the original death scenes. One guy is shot at with a flare gun which causes him to light up like the fourth of july, and another man is attacked with a boat propeller.

I predict this is going to go straight to DVD in the US, so if you're a horror movie fan you might want to check it out but don't expect it being a great movie. Other than that, you're better off avoiding this movie completely.

Brotherhood of the Wolf

BigSugar — Wed, 04 Jun 2008 13:47:00 -0700

I've got two fucking words for you. Monica. Belucci.

Here's
the deal; a knight and his heterosexual life-mate are sent by Louis the
what-the-fuck-ever to deal with some sort of monster who's killing
peasant broads in rural France. Jaws and Bruce Lee mayhem ensues.

You
know those long, slow, arty fucks that last for a couple of hours and
at the end, you get a spectacular cumshot? Yeah, well this movie
is one of those. The flick clocks in at two-and-a-half hours, but
it's most certainly time well spent. Just about the time you
start sliding into boredom, something really cool happens or at least,
you get some tits. Oh yeah, did I mention that a significant
portion of the flick takes place in a brothel? Where Monica
Belucci's character works? Oh yes, kiddies, if you look close
enough, you get a peek at the lady's bush (or rather the lack threof).

And
once you get past all of that, what've we got? We've got kick-ass
fight scenes, a cool fucking monster, and Vincent Cassel more twisted
than we've seen since Hate. All under the direction of
Christophe Gans who could make a fucking KFC commercial look
epic. The guy puts together shots that give you wood, and piles
them on top of one another so that you have to keep rewinding the
fucking thing to make sure you saw what you think you saw. Think
David Fincher, only amped up.

And Monica Belucci's ass.

Get it and Love it.

Save Yourselves,

'Nuff Sugar.

Night Watch

BigSugar — Wed, 04 Jun 2008 11:33:41 -0700

No, not the old Ewan McGregor/Josh Brolin movie. This one's actually really fucking good.

Here's
the deal; the forces of Light and Dark call a truce ending a centuries
long war, but the truce is in trouble when a kid is born who, it has
been foretold, will tip the balance of power in favor of whatever side
he chooses to join. Fuckin' weird, crazy-assed shit ensues.

Okay,
see if you can follow this; as part of the truce, two enforcement camps
are created to police illegal activities of the respective sides. Members of the Light
who watch the fuckups on the Dark side are called Night Watch (their
opposite numbers are called Day Watch, the title of the sequel to this
flick). The story follows one of the Night Watch as he goes in to
protect the boy who will shift the balance of power. Now,
apparently, neither side can influence the decision of the boy (it's
against The Rules), but certain Dark assholes are working overtime to do
just that. Add in a broad who's cursed as a motherfucker and you've
got this flick.

As you can tell, the story is complicated and
what's above is only the bullet points. It's a fuckton more
complex than what I've managed to boil it down to, so get ready for a
two or three sitting event here. With that out out of the way, let
me tell you this is one hell of a movie. That fucking Russkie
managed to put together a flick that goes straight against everything
you know about how boring and pain-in-the ass pretentious foreign films
often are. I'll put it to this way; even the fucking subtitles are cool as hell.

Add
to that a visual style that takes equal parts Tim Burton and Tony Scott
and slams them into each other at a fucking velocity that spot-welds
the two together and you've got a movie that shames pretty much every
tentpole summer flick that's come out in the last five years. I
don't know where they dug this cat Bekmambetov up from, but if the Iron
Curtain's got anymore like this one, Red Rover, Red Rover, send those
motherfuckers on over.

As a side note, I know many of you don't
know who in the purple Jesus fuck this Bekmambetov is, but don't
worry. In a couple of weeks when a little Angelina
Jolie/Morgan Freeman movie called Wanted comes out, you won't be able to escape this cocksucker.

Get it and Love it.

Save yourselves,

'Nuff Sugar

Teeth

BigSugar — Fri, 16 May 2008 14:58:27 -0700

Well, then there's this fucking movie.

Here's the deal;
A cute teenage girl discovers her sexuality and that she's every man's
nightmare at the same time. Fucking havoc ensues.

I'm going
to be as elliptical as possible here because I thnk the film is better
served by keeping the details of the central conceit under wraps.
Suffice it to say, the sweet, cute , innocent little cunt here is bad
news. And fucking how.

This is a horror film, but it's one
of those satirical horror flicks. Turns out, Dawn, the lead in
the film, is a Promise Keeper. One of those kids who swear before
God that they'll save themselves for marriage, meanwhile they're taking
anal creampies and swallowing Rod Stewart volumes of jizz. And she
means the shit until, of fucking course, she runs into one of those emo
kids with a hard-on. Thus, the first feelings of wanting to go
from full of the Lord to full of this kid's cock. Watching Dawn's
arch in this film is a hoot, and Jess Weixler gives it
the perfect tone. Having met many of these so-called Promise
Keepers in my time (I was propositioned by one broad), I can assure you
that her work is dead-on, which makes it all the more hysterical.

Now,
the story is pretty slight here. In fact, if you look at the
structure, it's more or less a slasher film. That said, it's got
a quick clock at eighty-eight minutes and once it gets into the meat of
the thing it takes care of business in fairly rapid order, as any good
slasher film fucking should. The body count isn't very
high, but what we get is made to have a fucking impact.

By
way of suggestion, if you're interested in this movie and know nothing
about it, don't go to the internet for a trailer or plot
details. This is one of those films where the less you know about
it going in the better. Trust me.

Get it and love it.

Save Yourselves,

'Nuff Sugar

Maximum Overdrive

BigSugar — Thu, 01 May 2008 12:59:16 -0700

Ahhh, 1986. What a year. My friends had discovered the
merits of Family Sized bottles of Robitussin (ROBO), and huffing butane
(I came late those parties), and I discovered The Thunder From Down
Under: AC/DC. And once again, the whole world shifted for me.

Here's
the deal; the Earth passes into the "extraordinarily diffuse" tail of
an oddly named comet and all the machines on the planet go fucking
balls out. Truck, steamroller, and soda machine mayhem ensue.

In
the cannon of Stephen King adaptations, this is one of the more
reviled, and brother that's saying something. You want know how
hated it is? Shall I tell you. Well, folks, the director
himself has been quoted in a number of media outlets referring to this
movie as a "dog." Who directed it, you might ask? Stephen
King did. You read that right. This one was written and
directed by tha man himself. And he hates it. If you just stop right there, that makes this movie a nice little curiosity. But let's proceed.

The movie is based on one of King's stories from Night Shift,
a collection of really great shorts. The funny thing here is that
the short story is one of the weaker ones in the book, so how it became
such a cool movie is beyond me. Now, be warned, King has called
this a "moron movie," and he hit the nail on the head. This
fucker is packed with idiots all doing truly stupid things, but I have
to say, that's part of what makes it truly great. Yes, I said
great. Check out the scene at the Little League game. How
about when they go to rescue the Bible salesman? Or the kid riding
through the the suburbs. All fucking incredible scenes, but
still, not what makes this movie truly great. What makes
this movie truly great:

AC/DC.

That's right, the greatest rock band the world has ever seen. Doubt me? Back In Black
was relesed twenty-eight years ago and it's already sold more than
100,000 copies this year. The lads were hired by King to do the
music for the movie and turned out "Who Made Who," the title track from
the album of the same name that serves as the film's soundtrack.
And they fit fucking perfectly with his movie. The first
time I heard "Hell's Bells," was while watching this flick and I almost
shot a wad. It was a fucking revelation. I came to Jesus that day (well, Angus for sure). I've been a freak ever since.

I
should also state, in the interest of full disclosure, the best sex
I've ever had with the hottest chick I've ever done it with happened
while watching this movie. So it's entirely possible that this
flick has some anti-erectile dysfunction properties as well. If
my dick ever stops working, I've got two copies as a back-up.

Get it and love it.

Save Yourselves,

'Nuff Sugar