WHAT IT’S ABOUT: When a freak paranormal encounter shatters the lives of a man and his wife, he tries to make sense of what happened. As he searches for answers, he finds himself drawn deeper and deeper into the eerie mystery of the Mothman. Now, strange things are happening in Point Pleasant… What does it all mean? Is it a warning?

REVIEW: The Mothman Prophecies doesn’t get a lot of mentions on many critics’ top-10 movie lists, and that’s always saddened me a little, because I happen to really love this movie. Directed by Mark Pellington — probably best-known for directing music videos for such bands as Pearl Jam, Public Enemy, U2, Nine Inch Nails, Foo Fighters, and Anthrax (the list goes on) — the hyper-stylized look of this film is very much like watching a feature-length music video. Visually, it’s stunning. Horror-wise, the scares in this movie are chilling and effective. But, if this quiet movie and all the alien horror it has to offer doesn’t quite do the job for you, this might: The Mothman Prophecies is based on true events.

True, freaky events.

John and Mary Klein are madly in love. Newly-married life is wonderful, and they’ve just finished putting the final signatures on the deed to their dream home. They drive off into the night together, laughing, happy — and in the blink of an eye, their lives are catastrophically interrupted. Something flies at the car, Mary swerves to avoid it — a pair of red eyes, a flash of light — and the car crashes. Mary’s head slams into the window. Then, as abruptly as it began, it’s over. The red-eyed being has vanished. Only silence remains. In the wake of the accident, the pair is injured, frightened — but alive.

Well, not for long.

Mary’s head injury isn’t life-threatening, but the inoperable brain tumor the doctors discover is. Before John can even recover from the shock of Mary’s terminal diagnosis, Mary is gone. Her death is so swift, John can’t process it. Mary’s final moments were tainted by fevered ramblings and urgent questions about what John had seen during the accident. A nurse informs John she’d also kept a sketchbook of drawings. She knew she was going to die, he says. You see, she’d been drawing angels. When John examines Mary’s sketchbook, he is disturbed. Page after page is filled with dark, frightening images of a black-winged creature with red eyes.

It’s probably nothing to worry about.

Two years later, John moves about his life like a ghost, still haunted by the sudden death of his wife. He is driving down a lonely highway towards Richmond, Virginia, when his car suddenly stops working. His watch also stops working. Perplexed, he leaves his car, walking a few hundred yards to a nearby farmhouse. He knocks on the front door, hoping to use their phone. When a man opens the door and shoves a loaded shotgun in John’s face, it’s not all that surprising. But when he demands John explain why this is the third time in three nights he’s come to their door at two in the morning asking to use their phone, John has no explanation. John also can’t explain how he is suddenly hours and hundreds of miles off-course from his destination…

The hell just happened?

It turns out a lot of people have been experiencing strange things in Point Pleasant — UFOs, weird lights, and bizarre phone calls in the middle of the night. Some have even reported seeing a red-eyed, winged creature… The police are swamped with an influx of reports, so John decides to tag along to see what he can learn. The more he uncovers about the Mothman, the more John draws connections between the seemingly random paranormal events the people of Point Pleasant are experiencing and his own strange encounter. When people start receiving messages predicting death from a mysterious alien-voiced man named Indrid Cold, things in town are already pretty spooky. Then John begins receiving messages. When Indrid’s predictions of doom start coming true, the terror pushes some people in town over the breaking point.

Things get weird in a hurry.

What do the cryptic messages from Indrid Cold mean? Do they predict a coming disaster? If John follows the clues, can disaster be averted? Can lives be saved? What is Indrid Cold, and what consequences will there be for playing his game? Is John going crazy, or is the Mothman real?

Is anything real? Are you real? Am I?

Though based on a true account, the movie takes some liberties with the original story. The setting has been moved from the ’60s to modern day, and some characters have been shuffled around and combined to create a more compelling narrative. The UFO activity that reportedly accompanied the original events isn’t so much downplayed as it is barely mentioned, and other details regarding the infamous disaster have also been changed. The facts have been carefully reworked, but the seams don’t show. The changes they’ve made work within the context of the film, and the end-result is a damn entertaining movie.

Hang in there! I promise it’s worth it!

The Mothman Prophecies is a great movie, and I confess, I have a major soft-spot for it. I find it very difficult to come up with things to complain about. It’s gorgeous to look at, well-acted, emotionally moving, and it’s damn scary. The sounds and images in this movie will stick with you for days. It is truly a one-of-a-kind flick, and that is why it remains one of my personal favorites.

ON A SCALE OF 1-10: Relentlessly creepy. You’ll never drive at night again! 8.

WHAT IT’S ABOUT: When an elderly man’s son dies under mysterious circumstances, evidence points to the supernatural. The aging members of The Chowder Society hold the key, and as they are picked off one by one, the surviving son must uncover their secret before it’s too late.

REVIEW: Ghost Story made a such a lasting, disturbing impression on me when I first saw it in the ’80s, I’d been kinda scared to see it ever since. It came on TV one lazy, unsupervised summer afternoon, and with one chilling stroke left me forever traumatized. A water-logged corpse collapsing to the ground, gelatinous skin sloughing away like a jellied sausage casing, slime-covered skull yawning open to unleash a silent howl… This image has never left me. Neither has the image of a screaming, naked man crashing to his bloody death through a plate glass window. This gruesome scene occurs in the first few minutes of the film and also happens to be the very first time my innocent eyes had ever seen a human wang. I guess it just slipped past the censors somehow.

Whoops! Sorry we SCARRED YOU FOR LIFE.

Upon recent viewing, however, the only lasting impression I am left with is what a truly lousy movie Ghost Story is. The pacing is agonizingly slow, and the transitions are so jarring that it feels like three and a half different movies spliced into one. From the shocking opening scene — in which a nude man confronts a ghostly, naked woman in his bed, only to be terrified into defenestrating himself out of a New York City high-rise — things slow down to glacial speeds, and we are introduced to the elderly members of The Chowder Society. As it turns out, the deceased young man’s father is a member of this group, which is basically a geriatric version of Are You Afraid of the Dark?’s Midnight Society. You must tell a ghost story to gain admittance, and once you’re in, that’s pretty much it. But what do all these grumpy old men have to do with sexy, naked ghosts? Well, grab an Afghan throw blanket and a few dozen cups of tea, because this movie is going to take its sweet-ass time getting there.

Don, the surviving brother of dearly departed David, returns to his hometown for the funeral. Meanwhile, The Chowder Society is on edge, plagued by nightmares. Don’s father is almost immediately killed, which begs the question: why drag Douglas Fairbanks Jr.’s corpse out of obscurity if you’re just gonna unceremoniously shove it off a bridge fifteen minutes later?

It just seems rude.

Fellow Chowder Society member Ricky (played by Fred Astaire), disturbed by recent events, starts poking his nose around abandoned buildings, searching for God knows what. He is accosted by a feral child and a frolicking mental patient who claims to be receiving instructions from an unknown woman — something which is probably important to the plot, but which is totally undermined by the weird and distracting likeness the character bears to both Brad Dourif and Squiggy from Laverne & Shirley. When Squiggy shows up at David’s house spouting more nonsense and delivering a mysterious necklace, that’s when David decides that he must confront The Chowder Society about this damn ghost problem before they all wind up dead. Wait, what? If you find yourself seriously confused, just hang on.

There will be boobs.

David tells The Chowder Society the tale of how he met his ex-girlfriend, about all the crazy sex they used to have, and why — after he got a creepy vibe from her a couple of times and decided (with no real evidence to back it up) that she was probably a ghost — he chose to be a jackass and break off their engagement. And yes, while this whole section of the movie feels like one big excuse to see naked titties, and though David does a piss-poor job of explaining himself, we are eventually convinced that this somehow ties shit together.

Just in time for another lengthy flashback!

My main complaint with Ghost Story is that none of the movies’ different storylines seem to mesh together in a cohesive way. The Chowder Society and their visions of doom, David and his nymphomaniac ex-fiancee, the menacing pair of mental patients, the gauzy flashbacks of the roaring ’20s — it all feels very disjointed and poorly patched-together. Watching Ghost Story is like watching a TV with someone changing the channel every ten minutes. Eventually, the story does make sense, but it takes a lot of explanation to get there, and it just barely wheezes over the finish line. The problem is that so much of the movie is just plain boring (old people talking, walking, sitting) or distracting (wangs, gratuitous sex, Squiggy) that it’s difficult to understand or care why things are happening.

The one saving grace — apart from Alice Krige’s enthusiasm for full-frontal nudity — is the special effects, which are truly spectacular. Rarely have I seen dead bodies look this gross outside of Italian horror. Ghost Story is a smorgasbord of rotting flesh, sure to leave the viewer queasy and unsettled — though sloppy, mouldering corpses coupled with near-constant mentions of “The Chowder Society” might be enough to tip some viewers over the brink.

Mmm… Chowder.

Delicious.

ON A SCALE OF 1-10: Cool effects and abundant nudity, but you feel every one of those 110 minutes. 4.

The Spirit Is Willing (1967)

WHAT IT’S ABOUT: Three playful ghosts decide to have a little fun when a family moves into their seaside home. Unfortunately for the family’s teenage son, everything is getting blamed on him!

REVIEW: Our film begins in 1898. A young sea captain is propositioned on the edge of a cliff by an elder sea captain: marry my hag of a daughter, and I’ll make it worth your while! The older man insists that a luxurious home and wealth are simply there for the taking, hinting that a wise man would seize such an opportunity. Despite their precarious cliffside location and the elder captain’s urging, young Ebenezer immediately declines the offer. Have you seen that witch? Woof! However, when the older captain promises him a fleet of ships to command, Ebenezer buckles like a pilgrim’s hat.

Every man has his price!

Ebenezer moves into the grand seaside house, while his new wife Felicity busies herself primping and beautifying, trying to create the illusion that she isn’t, in fact, old enough to be his mother. As poor Ebenezer trudges upstairs to perform his dreaded bedroom duties, his attention is caught by the pretty blonde housemaid, Jenny. After giving the idea of breaking his newly-minted vows about a second’s thought, Ebenezer quickly abandons his chivalry and chases the frisky young blonde downstairs to her bedroom. Of course, Felicity isn’t a total idiot. When her husband doesn’t come to bed, she knows exactly where he is. As the plucky Scooby-Doo-esque music plays, Felicity merrily enters the kitchen and selects a murder weapon. Why confront your philandering husband of one day when you can just hack him to death with a meat cleaver, no questions asked?

Makes perfect sense to me!

As Felicity hews the pair of lovers in twain with said cleaver, blood-curdling screams and corpse-chopping sound effects are played over the cheerful sitcom soundtrack. Felicity drags Jenny’s corpse away, pleased with a job well done. But even a severed spine isn’t enough to stop Ebenezer! As he dies, he staggers into the kitchen – bloody cleaver embedded in his back – and grabs another handy meat cleaver, finishing off his murderous hag-wife in the same way she finished him. This entire scene is underscored by bouncy, lighthearted music, screams, and more corpse-chopping noises.

It’s weirdly unsettling to expect a laugh track to break in at any second
while watching a triple murder.

Cut to the 1960s, and a brand new family is moving in – Ben, Kate, and their teenage son Steve. In the car ride to their new home, Steve bitches and moans about absolutely everything as his father (Sid Caesar) almost blows a blood vessel trying not to pull over and slap the ungrateful shit out of him, insisting that the house will be perfect and that they’ll all love it. One has to wonder if it is always common practice to lease a home in a far-off town, sight-unseen, without consulting one’s family, or if that kind of real estate agreement only applies to haunted houses.

The old “It’s Cheap Because Nobody Seems to Stay Long” clause!

Regardless, the Powell family moves in and are immediately attacked by an ax-wielding handywoman – again, while the wacky sitcom music plays. The twitchy woman apologizes, then takes off like a bat out of hell, and the disturbing incident is played off as nothing more than local color. Oh those wacky locals, always trying to ax-murder people!

Steve, bored with everything, immediately begins skulking from room to room, loudly complaining about the décor and wailing about how much he hates his life and how he never asked to be born, while simultaneously begging his parents for a new car.

Ah, teenagers!

As he wanders through the house, ghostly mayhem follows. First, Steve is pushed from a window. His parents rescue him, dangling and screaming, from the window’s ledge, but refuse to believe he was actually pushed. It’s just some weird teenage thing, a ploy for attention! Steve whines and hollers about how much his life sucks, then storms off. As he passes through the kitchen, dishes start to fly, crashing into the counters and breaking a window. His parents rush in and reprimand Steve, lamenting the fact that they have such a lemon for a kid, all the while Steve goes apeshit, insisting that he didn’t do it. Of course, nobody believes him.

Poor Steve! He should complain more.

And this is basically what you can expect for the entire hour and a half: Steve is witness to paranormal shenanigans, everyone blames Steve, and Steve bitches about how unfair his life is. Things get a little more interesting when the ghost of Jenny develops a crush on Steve – and more interesting still when a cute girl in town (who bears a striking resemblance to Jenny) convinces Steve to hold a graveyard séance and invite the ghosts to a matchmaking masquerade party!

However, most of the movie is just ghosts throwing vases at walls.

Barry Gordon brings the movie’s most amusing comedic moments as the endlessly shit-upon Steve, and Sid Caesar is perfectly cast as a loving father at his wits’ end. Jill Townsend is charming in a triple-role as ghost Jenny, kooky mod Priscilla, and sexy librarian Carol. Enjoyable as a family film (if you can ignore the whole meat-cleaver massacre thing), but the silly soundtrack and Steve’s constant kvetching ensure that The Spirit Is Willing never once gets too spooky. Perfect for kids who aren’t traumatized by a little multiple homicide and adults who are nostalgic for cornball ’60s TV shows.

ON A SCALE OF 1-10: A goofy, mildly-entertaining ghostly comedy. 5.

WHAT IT’S ABOUT: Police Chief Brody must once again protect the citizens of Amity after a second monstrous shark begins terrorizing its waters.

REVIEW: Just when you thought it was safe to go back in the water… up floats the pale and fetid carcass of another pointless sequel. Jaws is unequivocally one of the greatest thrillers ever committed to 35 mm film. Back in 1975, it single-handedly created the summer “blockbuster” by raking in more than 50 times its budget, so it made sense that the studio would attempt to capture lightning in a bottle twice. But whereas Jaws was a masterpiece of fear, fleshed out with a sharp script, intense (sometimes morally grey) characters, and a thrumming quiet anxiety, Jaws 2 is about as subtle as a speed boat explosion.

Also, yes. There are speed boat explosions.

All is well on Amity Island. Suspiciously well! Though only five short years have passed since the first aquatic killing spree, it may as well have been fifty — because when a pair of divers turns up missing (possibly eaten, possibly by yet another rogue shark) it’s as if a wave of collective amnesia has washed over the town. Not only do they dismiss the idea of a shark attack as laughable bullshit, they are once again indignant with frustration at Chief Brody for bothering to investigate.

How dare you do your job!

In defense of the good people of Amity Island, Chief Brody has been slipping. Perhaps as a result of post traumatic stress disorder, his excessive drinking has escalated into full blown alcoholism. His dislike of the ocean — almost boyishly charming when the Brody family moved to the island — has devolved into a manic phobia, no longer cute or tolerated. Rattled and purposeless, Brody dives headlong into an anti-shark crusade at the very first whiff of trouble. However lest we forget, as irritating and shifty as the police chief has become in recent years, he did save the town. As the city officials roll their eyes in collective annoyance at the mention of closing the beaches, we wonder how they could have forgotten past tragedies so completely. That doesn’t exactly excuse Brody’s behavior, though. Feeling a little vocationally impotent is no excuse to go waving a loaded gun around on a crowded public beach.

Jesus Christ, Martin!

Crazy or not, Brody is right. There is another killer shark on the loose with a taste for whiny New England teenagers! And speaking of teenagers, little Mike Brody has grown up into a fine looking and popular young man, surprisingly un-scarred for life by the horrifying events of five summers ago. He endures the embarrassment of having an insane person for a father, taking to the seas in a convoy of sailboats at every given opportunity with a Whittman’s Sampler of teenage pals.

In a flurry of bad ’70s fashion and regrettable hairdos, we’re introduced to the gang: Tina, Brooke, Lucy, Jackie, Marge, Larry, Eddie, Timmy, Polo, Andy, Patrick, Doug, and Bob. With the threat of having to remember so many names looming large over the audience, we silently pray for the shark to just show up and start killing people already.

And he does!

The final sequence of the film finds a over a solid dozen cast members floating adrift at sea, marooned, and at the shark’s mercy. However, for all the work Jaws 2 does setting the table with a buffet of perfect victims, the kill count is surprisingly low. The shark here is simply a sad imitation of the original monster, whose ruthless cunning defied animal logic and horrified audiences. Jaws 2‘s great white is less of a calculating killer and more of an aquatic battering ram — breaching the ocean’s surface to slam headfirst into no less than seven vessels. After two hours of headbutting solid wood hulls, its clear to the viewing audience that we’re not dealing with an Einstein of the seas.

Taking small pieces from Jaws and attempting to recycle them into new material seems to be the running theme of Jaws 2. Remember in Jaws how shocking it was when the shark attempted to ram the ship? How about in Jaws 2, the shark rams EVERY ship? Remember in Jaws how heart-stopping it was when you finally saw the shark? How about in Jaws 2, we show the shark at every conceivable opportunity? All the sly and nuanced things that went into creating the atmosphere of dread (and credibility) in Jaws are thrown into the chum bucket for the sequel.

Hang in there Mike, it’ll all be over soon.

Though the entirety of Amity Island seems somehow dumber (most notably Deputy Hendricks, who seems to have had a personality transplant with Gomer Pyle), practically everyone from the first film is back. The only person we truly long to see, however, is the one person smart enough to bail on this production — Richard Dreyfuss. We’re comforted by the fact that though Matt Hooper is absent from the movie, at least he finally hitched that ride on the Aurora and is half a world away from all this this silliness.

A young (and pre-Christine) Keith Gordon steals each scene he’s in simply by being a far better actor than the other dozen disposable teens standing next to him. On the flipside of that coin, Donna Wilkes’ Jackie wins the Most Incessantly Unpleasant Person Ever Award with her obnoxious over-the-top screaming.

Eat her. Please eat her. EAT HER! Come on, you stupid shark!

It is, perhaps, unfair to compare Jaws 2 to it’s predecessor when it can’t hope to compete. That’s not to say it isn’t a scary film — it’s just not a particularly deep one. Yet, in the spectrum of the entire Jaws franchise, this is by far the best sequel. Kinda sad when you think about it.

ON A SCALE OF 1-10: It’s got some teeth, but lacks serious bite. 5.

Vampire Girl vs. Frankenstein Girl (2009)

WHAT IT’S ABOUT: When the cute new vampire at school falls for a mortal boy, his current girlfriend and a mad kabuki scientist both want her out of the picture — and not even death can stop them!

REVIEW: I decided to check this movie out based on the title alone. Vampires? Frankenstein monsters? And they’re both high school girls, you say? Fighting over a boy?

Sounds like fun!

Knowing that this was a Japanese film, I expected lots of colorful, cartoon violence — something this movie delivers in buckets from the very first frame. Right away, we meet the titular vampire girl, Monami, who cheerfully delights in ripping skulls and spines from her prey Mortal-Kombat-style while grinning and delivering cool lines of dialogue. After a blood-soaked opening scene of hilariously over-the-top, goofy carnage, I was totally on board and ready for more. However, as we flashed backward in time to Valentine’s Day at Tokyo High School, my enjoyment of this film came to a screeching halt.

Oh… Oh, dear.

We are introduced to the weird cast of characters at Tokyo High: our unlucky hero Jyugon, his gothic lolita girlfriend Keiko, her bitchy underlings, a creepy girl who loves to cut herself, and… well… here’s where it gets a little racist.

One of the main storylines revolves around a group of Japanese girls who want to be black. They darken their skin, wear black hairstyles, and have club meetings where they talk about how much they wish they were black and how to achieve more authentic blackness. The prosthetic makeup is intended, I assume, to mimic the artwork from Shungiku Uchida’s original manga, on which the movie is based. While I understand that they were probably trying to remain faithful to the material, the makeup is comically grotesque and comes off as horribly offensive. The movie reaches its most unforgivably offensive moment when the girls — wearing African lip discs, beating drums, and shaking spears in the air — do a tribal dance while chanting “Yes, we can!”

…You thought I was kidding?

Now, some people online defend this movie as not being racist. Being that it’s a Japanese movie, I am willing to accept that there might be a level of cultural difference that I’m just not getting. However, I am aware of the ganguro “blackface” fashion in Japan and that this movie is poking fun at it by taking the tanning trend to a ridiculous extreme. At the risk of calling this racist and looking naïve, or calling this funny and looking like a racist — I’m gonna choose the side that doesn’t irrevocably erode my humanity and self-respect.

Ganguro!

…ok, now that’s a little racist.

But back to the vampires! It’s Valentine’s Day, and Monami has set her sights upon handsome Jyugon — much to the displeasure of his girlfriend, the school Principal’s domineering daughter Keiko. As Monami attempts to seduce Jyugon into joining her in eternal darkness, Keiko tries to thwart her every move. But when a gruesome accident occurs, it looks like Keiko might be out of Monami’s way for good…

Hit the bricks, toots!

Meanwhile, a mad scientist in kabuki makeup is on the loose, killing people and harvesting body parts for his zany experiments! But how to make the perfect monster? The parts must be extraordinary! Powerful lungs, athletic legs, arms of steel — all parts conveniently found among the students and faculty of Tokyo High School. Soon, an unstoppable foe is born.

Her one objective: kill that man-stealing vampire bitch!

Vampire Girl vs. Frankenstein Girl is almost a fun movie. The gore is ultra-colorful and extreme, the comedy is dark, the action is wacky, and even the love story — while predictable — is kind of sweet in a lame way. But all the good this film delivers can’t wash away the foul, racist aftertaste. The blackface storyline is the unfortunate albatross around the neck of this movie, and it absolutely poisons the rest of the film.

What’s the point of going on?

But don’t get me wrong! It sucks for plenty of other reasons too! The movie feels thin, like a short film’s worth of content stretched to feature length by lethargic pacing and hammy overacting. The über-violent action scenes are gratuitously padded with shots of Monami laughing and spinning and prancing while being showered with blood. It’s cute for a few seconds, but after a couple of identical scenes — one of which lasts two solid minutes — it gets a little old. The urge to fast-forward whole scenes was tempting.

Two minutes of this doesn’t seem like an eternity, but it sure feels like it.

In the end, Vampire Girl vs. Frankenstein Girl is a B-movie that’s been hobbled down to a D-movie. While there are satisfying moments of both comedy and horror to be found, the appalling moments of in-your-face racism are too atrocious to see past. Anyone that says different is off my Christmas list.

ON A SCALE OF 1-10: Glimmers of wacky fun bludgeoned to death by racist subplot. 2.

Poison Ivy III: The New Seduction (1997)

WHAT IT’S ABOUT: A sinister seductress vows to destroy a suburban family.

REVIEW: The third installment in the Poison Ivy film franchise is only tied to the canon by the most tenuous of plot threads. As the opening credits roll, the movie scrambles in vain to connect those meandering dots, bombarding the audience with needlessly complicated information. We zoom in on a palatial hillside estate in sunny Los Angeles, where a jean-clad, sneering pool boy is busy ignoring his work to make sex-eyes with a woman inside. She shoos a series of children upstairs to play so she and the pool boy can fuck loudly in the kitchen. The girls seem cheerfully oblivious to the wall-pounding, screaming orgasms below, and have a tea party with a selection of creepy porcelain dolls. One of the girls (named Ivy), scoffs at playtime and skulks to the window, looking out onto the driveway where she witnesses a car pulling up. “There’s going to be fireworks,” the child actress intones badly, and we watch the six-year-old make a bizarre attempt at an evil grimace.

The Chlorine Cassanova strikes again!

Look. I can suspend disbelief only so far. But when you walk through your front door to the tunes of ecstatic moaning from somewhere in the house, there is absolutely NO NEED to wander at a snail’s pace through the foyer blithely calling “I’m home. …Honey? Rebecca?” WE know what’s going on. YOU know what’s going on. Let’s none of us be outrageously stupid here, okay? There is a veritable three-ring-circus of shouting as Ivan (shocker!) walks in on the teenage pool boy feverishly plowing his woman. In a flash, the half-naked teen is out the door and fleeing for his life as Ivan roughly manhandles the frantic Rebecca. Her shrieks and cries bring the children running, as well as another woman who was outside gardening. It’s precisely here that the script writers firmly grab ahold of our ears, raise a boot to our poor brains, and begin STOMPING DOWN what we’ve just seen in order to make room for even more garbage.

As it turns out, Miss Mid-Coitus-Rebecca isn’t Ivan’s wife after all — she’s a housemaid with whom he has been cheating! And as he is busy reeling from this two-timing discovery, Ivan’s real wife walks in to discover his infidelity! (My… brain!) The ACTUAL lady of the house takes charge of this nonsense and tells the maid to get her things and get the fuck out — and to take her children with her! So, we learn that two of the three girls witnessing all of these bullshit shenanigans are Rebecca’s daughters. Sisters Ivy and Violet are kicked to the curb with their whore of a mother, and all little Joy can do is cry that this was without a doubt the worst tea party ever.

Sorry my mom’s such a skank. Well, it’s off to the gutter for me!

Cut to twenty years later and a cab pulling up the estate’s lengthy drive. It’s Violet! She’s back, all grown-up and full of tits, come to visit her childhood friend. We are swiftly informed that Joy’s mother/plot-device has long since passed away, and Ivan has turned into a bit of an emotional recluse in the wake of his summer of epic infidelity. Violet parlays her brief visit into an extended stay, and it’s clear to us at home that this bitch is CUH-RAZY from day one. She dresses provocatively, pouts and teases with husky innuendo, wielding sexual magnetism with all the subtlety of a baseball bat. She tells Joy and Ivan that she’s working as a waitress at a nearby Denny’s — and, WTF. I’m really perplexed why this film did not get sued! — though Violet’s hidden duffle bag of ball-gags, vinyl-wear, and handcuffs tell a different story.

She’s a dominatrix prostitute for hire!

Well shit, YIPPEE!

On one hand, this movie suffers a lot from the same problem that the second film did, which is that they placed the vixen character in a dual role as both hero and villain. Whereas in Poison Ivy II: Lily it failed outright because Alyssa Milano is too much of a sweetie-pie for us to believe she’d ever truly be bad, in this movie it fails because we never once buy that Violet is halfway sane. She’s a batshit hooker on the loose, and there’s very little to connect with emotionally. (Though, I’m not going to lie. It’s pretty fun to watch her work.) We gather from Violet’s quieter moments — talking creepily to her dolls — that she’s obsessed with the idea of recapturing the happiness she had as a wee tot, living with her best friend Joy.

What’s a girl to do? Violet launches a full tactical strike of crazy: seducing and defiling Joy’s fiancé, getting him hooked on hard drugs, ruining Joy’s chances for a tennis scholarship, keeping her forcibly intoxicated, a little murder here, a little murder there and — YES! It wouldn’t be complete without it:

Sleeping with DEAR OLD DAD.

For all of the effort Jaime Pressly puts into acting her clothes off, this is one bad, bad movie. The most unforgivable crime committed by this film is the inclusion of one alcoholic, pestering housekeeper by the name of Mrs. B. If there’s one thing that an erotic thriller DOESN’T NEED, it’s a nosy, doddering old woman butting-in and spoiling all of the sexy (albeit stupid) fun, especially when her approach is accompanied by plucky theme-music, grossly inappropriate to the tone of the movie. She’s the comedic relief in a film that needs no comedy, and sadly the only Mrs. B moment containing TRUE LAUGHS is the one in which Violet finally kills the old bag and stuffs her body in a closet.

Oh, that rascally Mrs. B!

Is this one worth your time? I’m going to go out on a limb and say probably not. Though, there is a whole hell of a lot of naked Jaime Pressly to gawk at, which isn’t a bad thing. If you’re willing to endure a lot of predictable cuckoo-bananas behavior, there is a wealth of things to ridicule. So if you’re in it for the sheer sadistic comedy, by all means inflict this one on your friends! You won’t be sorry! Then again, they might be.

ON A SCALE OF 1-10: Stupid! Yet, stupid in a fun way. 2.

WHAT IT’S ABOUT: Lily, a sheltered art student, unleashes her wild side after discovering an erotic journal.

REVIEW: As far as the IDEA of this movie goes, you can almost get behind it. It was the mid-’90s! Sex sold and was still a little shocking! Generation X was up its own ass in love with itself, and Alyssa Milano was taking her clothes off all the time. A sequel to the hot and scandalous story of an underage seductress in combat boots seemed like a damned fine idea.

But then they went and fucked it all up.

Our misguided saga unfolds as a young woman steps off a dusty bus, laden with suitcases and a terrible case of 90s fashion. Lily is a shy and sheltered young art student who has managed to escape the dreary, rural awfulness of Michigan in favor of the gaudy, bizarro awfulness of LA. As she makes her way to the roach-infested artists’ commune that she will soon call her home (JESUS, NO!) she takes in the sights that the campus has to offer: the students, the quad, the architecture, the unholy performance-art mime nightmares. YES. LET’S ALL GET A GOOD LOOK AT THIS FRUIT LOOP. He capers about in technicolor motley, immediately frightening all Alyssa-Milano-induced erections into permanent hiding. Is he integral to the plot in any way? NOT AT ALL. Will we see him two, maybe three more times for absolutely no reason? OH, HEAVENS, YES! Did you think once this unnatural weirdo cartwheeled onto the set, he would simply LEAVE? We should be so lucky.

THIS is why they cut funding for arts programs.

We are introduced to Lily’s — I’m hesitant to say “dorm mates” because that implies that someone, somewhere is possibly paying for the upkeep of their living conditions, so I’m going to call them “fellow squatters” — one by one. Tanya is a computer graphics genius, as we can tell from watching her drag-and-drop colored circles in an MS Paint program. Bridgette is obnoxious and wears terrible hats. The only person we give a crap about is sexy, sexy Gredin, the be-muscled biker hunk who welds abstract, metal sculptures when he’s not too busy being sensitive and oh-so emotionally available. Immediately Lily and Gredin have a fun sort of scripted-chemistry, attending life drawing class together and becoming instant best buds. In said class we meet the campus Lothario, Mr. Falk  (the ladies call him Donald) who seems to take great pride in ridiculing others and helping Lily perfect how to sketch nipples. It’s sensory overload for Little Miss Michigan! Lily feels repressed and hopelessly smothered by her own shyness and mousy overalls.

If only she were a whore!

Lucky for us, happenstance loves whores and intervenes as Lily uncovers a mysterious box of crap in the back of her closet, containing a journal from someone named Ivy. It’s implied that this is the same Ivy from the first Poison Ivy film, although I find this a dubious plot-jump, as anyone renting a movie called Poison Ivy 2 MIGHT HAVE SEEN THE ORIGINAL, in which it is made perfectly clear that (SPOILER!) Ivy was about 15 when she took an assisted-header off a balcony. Not exactly “college material” on account of being generally broke, under-aged, and… you know. DEAD. But for the purpose of this film, fine. Sure. She went to college and left a clandestine account of her sexcapades for someone to one day discover. Lily becomes wholly consumed by the journal and immediately vows to reinvent herself as a wanton cock-monger.

Thus begins her predictable/embarrassing yet vaguely entertaining descent into sin! She cuts her hair, slathers on the lipstick, and spends hour upon hour vainly admiring her own naked figure in the mirror. She seems to derive illicit pleasure in teasing Gredin (both silly and unnecessary, as he clearly would have dated/boned her before), but acts hesitant when Mr. Falk comes a-callin’ — only until she remembers that the script requires her to be a shameless hussy! Donald seduces Lily into posing for him sans-clothing in private “art” sessions after-hours. His desire devolves to a kind of maddening obsession, and soon poor Donald has put his career, marriage, family — and most of all, dignity — on the back-burner in an effort to hump Alyssa Milano.

But, hey. Haven’t we ALL been there?

Let me tell you that this flick is just dreadful edited for television, and occasionally makes no sense at all. The furious jump-cuts and hack editing that went into dancing around all of the nudity leaves this thing a shredded wreck. Not to say it’s a decent movie with all of the titties, but come on. There’s only one reason to rent this movie and it’s not the compelling narrative.

The film suffers a lot from placing the evil seductress in the leading role. We’re forced to both identify with her as the heroine and the villain, which doesn’t work. We never truly believe that she’s committed to her ridiculous lifestyle change, and therefore the flick loses a lot of drama. The first Poison Ivy movie worked as well as it did because we viewed Ivy through the eyes of the protagonist (in that case, Sara Gilbert as Sylvie), never knowing what Ivy’s motivations were. Here, the protagonist is Lily, so we know full damned well that no amount of lipstick or chunky thrift-store jewelry will suddenly turn her into anything as interesting as a murderer.

Unlikely as it may seem — aside from the terrific tits of Miss Milano — Xander Berkeley as Mr. Falk is the best reason to endure this flick. The man is a fantastic character actor who has appeared in literally hundreds of television and film productions. He has been a favorite of mine since his role as philandering husband Trevor in 1992′s underrated horror hit Candyman. Maybe he’s just really good at playing dudes that cheat on their wives. Whatever the reason, Xander Berkeley oozes a dirty kind of charisma in this film and comes across as irresistibly sexy, despite being a balding pervert. Sure, we’d do Mr. Falk too! Although, the initial seduction scene in Donald’s art studio is laughably marred by a RELENTLESS RINGING TELEPHONE that none of the characters seem to notice or care about, which persists unabated for ten fucking minutes. ANSWER THE DAMNED PHONE.

Dude. I think your wife is calling.

Poison Ivy II: Lily fairly withers in the shadow of the first film — which was, admittedly, pretty cheesy itself. While there is plenty of nudity and fumbling stabs at eroticism, we don’t get anything nearly as diabolical as snuffing-out family members or high-speed car crashes. Though for the record, the theme of the Poison Ivy film franchise seems to be “falling to one’s death, off of things” and in that respect this one doesn’t disappoint! Is it worth the cost of a rental? Well, it’s definitely no fun watching this one on basic cable, so I’d say if you don’t mind some sideways looks from the video clerk — why the hell not?

ON A SCALE OF 1-10: Goofy, but chock-full of boobs. 4.

WHAT IT’S ABOUT: A seductive teen befriends an introverted high school student and schemes her way into the lives of her wealthy family.

REVIEW: I had caught part of this movie on ye olde Cinemax back in the early ’90s when it was on heavy cable rotation, and I was THOROUGHLY SCANDALIZED! While I had forgotten most of the entire plot, no amount of retroactive mind-bleach could scrub certain scenes away completely. Let it be said that there are just some things an impressionable 13 year old girl should never have to see. Sitting down to view Poison Ivy again with renewed purpose, I didn’t know what to expect from it — save that at some point, haggard-ass Tom Skerritt was going to fuck Drew Barrymore on a piano, and it was going to be WEIRD.

Sylvie (Sara Gilbert) smokes and sketches in her notepad while covertly watching a beautiful blonde on a rope swing. As she glides through the air in graceful slow-motion, oblivious to being watched, Sylvie remarks to herself that the girl looks like a slut. And she does! But admiring the girl’s perfectly painted red lips, she gets flustered. “Not that I’m a lesbian… well, maybe I am.”

It’s okay, Darlene. We’d ALL go gay for Drew Barrymore.

Though the two girls run in similar circles, they’re relative strangers until the day they both land in the principal’s office. They start up a quick and easy conversation about their mutual love for being delinquents and phoning-in bogus bomb threats, and I am INSTANTLY JEALOUS BEYOND BELIEF that I never had a bad-girl friend in high school! The blonde girl shows Sylvie her sexy fake tattoo — an ivy-wreathed crucifix stuck to her upper thigh — and cheerfully compliments her on the badass Eye of Horus shaved into the side of Sylvie’s head. When Sylvie’s father arrives, fuming mad about her latest illegal escapade, the last thing he wants to do is give her shithead new friend a ride home. But as the girl leans into the window, smiling — boobs-a-poppin! — his irrepressible desire to leer like a pervert takes precedent, and he quickly folds. He asks what Sylvie’s friend’s name is. “Ivy,” Sylvie lies.

Over the next few weeks, Ivy and Sylvie (and me!) become inseparable best friends. They drink, they smoke, they shop for cheap miniskirts, talk about suicide and how they hate their families. While Sylvie’s parents have initial misgivings about the tough-looking, skimpy-dressing Ivy, they are quickly won over by her charmingly irreverent attitude — and the fact that she’s keeping their troubled daughter otherwise occupied. Sylvie’s mother, bed-ridden with emphysema, seems subtly delighted when Ivy moves in…

…while Sylvie’s dad is busy coping with his relentless boner problem.

But as Ivy inevitably wears out her welcome, relationships turn painfully sour. Her façade slips, and Sylvie begins to catch glimpses of Ivy’s manipulative, dangerously possessive side. With Sylvie’s mother eating out of her hand, and Sylvie’s father spiraling out of control into a guilt-ridden, alcoholic mess — Ivy has artfully positioned herself in a prime location to destroy Sylvie’s family from the inside out.

Poison Ivy was a hell of a lot better than I expected it to be. Viewing it as a jaded adult has given me far better perspective on the perceived sleaze-angle. While I should say first and foremost that perving on your daughter’s teenage friends is OH SO GROSS, you really can’t help but perv on Drew Barrymore in this movie. She delivers a fine performance that is as shocking and bold as it is playfully innocent. You’re never quite certain if you want to love her or smash her pouty little face in, which is why she makes for such an excellent movie villain. And she wears such tight little skirts.

The fact that the movie is told from Sylvie’s point of view is a definite bonus, as it leaves Ivy’s character, motivations, and her true identity a total mystery — a clever move completely abandoned in ALL of the craptacular sequels. We have no idea if Ivy’s sinister badness is coldly premeditated or simply the whims of an unstable teen. Sylvie is alternately enamored with and disgusted by Ivy, and we — as the viewer — are a slave to her emotions. Oh, how we love her when she stands up for Sylvie. Oh, how we hate her for abusing that trust.

Oh, how we vomit in our mouths when she porks Sylvie’s dad.

This movie has everything a successful ’90s teen flick should have: sexy stars, terrible fashion, ritzy LA locales, snappy one-liners, and the inescapable feeling that you should not be watching this. There’s no denying that Poison Ivy has survived the litmus test of time, feeling every bit as creepy and taboo as when it was first released. It’s definitely worth a second look if you’re in the market for a throwback thriller. Although be advised — future viewings of Tom Skerritt films will inevitably be tainted beyond repair.

ON A SCALE OF 1-10: A naughty little movie. 9.

WHAT IT’S ABOUT: A masked killer stalks a group of gay friends at the West Hollywood Halloween Carnival.

REVIEW: This film has been dubbed “the first gay slasher film” ever, and while I’m not entirely convinced that this is the case, I will say that it’s the first one I’ve seen that is outrageously great. If you have watched any amount of gay cable programming in the last few years — particularly the American here! channel — you’ve no doubt seen the trailer for Hellbent at some point. If you are a fan of both the horror and gay film genres, constantly in search of the perfect, tasty combination of both — Hellbent is your Reese’s peanut butter cup!

Deeeelicious!

Thrilling movies tend to be more exciting when the groundwork is set in the first few minutes. Whether it’s a teaser of swift intrigue, pulse-pounding action, or action in the more sexy sense of the word — it starts the movie off with a bang. Just look at all 22 James Bond movies! Lucky for us, Hellbent is no slouch. As the movie begins, two attractive guys are fervidly making out inside a hot rod, trying (with amusing frustration) to have sex, despite the cab being filled with helium balloons. Unfortunately for everyone, they are rudely interrupted by a huge, half-naked man in a devil mask, who proceeds to brutally decapitate them with a scythe.

Total weenie shrinker.

The following day — Halloween! — we are introduced to handsome police tech (and Peter-Gallagher-look-alike) Eddie. Though not officially an officer, he dons his father’s snug-fitting cop uniform as an impromptu costume before finishing up the rest of his official duties out on the street. Eddie heads to West Hollywood, distributing fliers to the locals, alerting them of a killer on the loose who may be targeting gay men. He is instantly likable, earnest in his concern for the community and taking his job seriously. He cheerfully runs through his stack of fliers before stopping off in a tattoo parlor with the last of them, where he happens to catch the eye of a mysterious loner. Tattooed, motorcycle-riding, leather-wearing Jake has got it all — smoldering good looks and dangerous bad-boy charisma. Before he’s gunned his bike out of the parking lot, Eddie is smitten.

So are we!

Damn those bad boys!

Eventually, we meet up with Eddie’s group of friends: Bi-sexual Party Animal, Shy Boy, and Underwear Model Drag Queen — otherwise known as Chaz, Joey, and Tobey. After getting ready to head out to the West Hollywood Halloween Carnival, Chaz suggests that they all stop off to gawk at the decapitation murder scene from the previous night. He’s adorably persistent, and even though the other three friends find the idea tacky (which, come on, it is) they cave. The boys find themselves half-drunk, laughing, and stumbling their way to the yellow police tape, as other costumed partiers walk past on their way to the carnival. When the friends spot a large man in devil horns lurking near the murder scene, seemingly watching them, they write him off as a cruiser-loser and jokingly taunt him. However, when the man continues to stand in the shadows, unmoving and staring at them, the boys get intensely creeped out. The mood ruined, they ditch their macabre plan, and head off to the carnival. But as the gigantic street party rages out of control, none are aware that a blood-thirsty psychopath is in their midst…

Well, they catch on pretty quick.

I found this flick to be extremely entertaining! While Hellbent has strong gay elements, what makes this movie work so well is that the gay theme is entirely incidental. It never panders or distracts from the fact that this is a tautly-written horror flick. It’s thrilling. It’s gory. It’s effectively scary, and it has one hell of a great villain. Hellbent‘s previously-mentioned claim that it’s “the first gay slasher film” is boasted right on the DVD cover. While that tag-line alone is a decent enough tease to spark plenty of rentals, I’d venture to go one further and say that it’s also one of the best slasher films of the 2000′s. Simply saying that it’s a groundbreaking pan-genre movie doesn’t do it nearly enough justice.

The acting is good, the best performances coming from Dylan Fergus as good-guy Eddie and Matt Phillips as drag queen Tobey. The movie was filmed during the actual West Hollywood Halloween Carnival and was not staged for the film. Hellbent does double-duty of not only weaving a great tale of horror around the event, but in showcasing the elaborate carnival itself. Colorful, intoxicating, and bewildering — it’s a crowded and hypnotizing kind of chaos. Men and women painted in wild hues, elaborately dolled-up and disguised, lights flashing. The carnival is an extraordinarily inspired setting for a slasher flick. As the movie races on and the unsuspecting characters inevitably become more intoxicated, we’re right there with them, enjoying the glittering, alien feel of the film. The violence, when it comes, is vicious and bloody. Every kill is more horribly unique and stomach-turning than the last, building the frenzied tension. How can the faceless, devil-horned murderer POSSIBLY out-do his last kill?

Who cares! Tell me about the cute dudes!

In addition to being an truly scary horror movie, Hellbent is also WAY HOT. If you’ve patiently sat through this review wondering if there was indeed a decent amount of guy-on-guy action, I’m happy to report that there is more than enough hot, sexy shit in this flick to rival any of its more-mainstream-genre counterparts. Topless babysitters have been done to death (though, granted, still pretty entertaining), but the gay slasher genre is still brand spankin’ new. It would be a damned shame to have this many good-looking guys go entirely clothed throughout the whole film, now wouldn’t it?

ON A SCALE OF 1-10: Refreshingly awesome. 8.

WHAT IT’S ABOUT: A woman’s investigation into an urban legend leads her down a dark path. Has a centuries-old horror returned to reek its vengeance, or is she merely going insane?

REVIEW: Chicago grad-student Helen Lyle begins a casual, cigarette-fueled investigation into local urban legends. Though fiercely intellectual and open-minded, Helen comes at the subject as somewhat of a bemused and privileged outsider. She’s a fair college princess with glowing ideals, yet lacking in practical street-smarts — the primary reason why her professor/husband Trevor finds the idea of hunting down fairy tales in back-alleys to be a dangerous waste of time. Still, Helen is spurred on by a growing sense of immediacy, and Trevor’s misgivings only serve to empower her more.

White people.

Helen discovers the legend of an entity known as “Candyman,” a being who strikes superstitious terror in the hearts of locals — specifically the black community of the Cabrini–Green projects. It is said that if you whisper his name five times into a mirror, he will appear. Part-man, part-demon, Candyman is clad in blood-soaked robes, his gravelly voice turning your blood to ice — just before he rips you in two with his gore-dripping hook-hand! It’s a chilling story that at once captivates Helen. Undeterred by the presence of menacing gang members, she investigates the Cabrini–Green projects looking for clues. It’s not surprising when her blonde hair and brazen naïveté turn out to be a homing beacon for violent thugs. Helen is brutally attacked, putting a swift end to her research.

As she convalesces, Helen is implored by her friends (and angrily badgered by her husband) to drop the thesis altogether. And yet, in the haze of her recovery she begins to see — or to imagine? — a dark figure stalking her. Helen is plagued by recurring visions of this shadowy being , filling her with horror. An overpowering presence, a sensuous voice that clouds her mind. It’s the Candyman alright! And he’s fixed his demon gaze upon Helen… or has he?

Spoiler: HE HAS!

It’s sometimes difficult to find a slasher film that feels wholly unique — the genre has become absolutely clogged with crap. But this is a feat that Candyman pulls off effortlessly. This film has everything. Originally based on a short story by the one-and-only Clive Barker, you know from scene one you’re in capable hands — capable, blood-soaked, guilt-free hands! Each scene looms ominous and eerie, leaving the viewer on constant pins. Our fears are manipulated with malevolent expertise. As the film becomes a downward spiral of myth and madness, we’re never certain when Candyman’s horrible hook will come exploding from someone’s chest in a fountain of gore. But rest assured, the payoffs in this film are exquisite. The use of practical — not digital — effects is on proud display here. Everything looks real because everything is real.

Blood is thick, hot, and eeeeeverywhere.

Tony Todd’s horrifying, seductive portrayal of Candyman elevates the character from what could have been only a mere movie monster to legendary villain. With his large frame and gravely voice, Tony Todd weaves a mesmerizing, silken web over the audience. But he’s a killer! He’s a monster! …Ask us if we care? To the viewer and Helen alike, Candyman is irresistibly sexual. He’s repulsive in all the right ways. To this effect, Todd creates the very BEST kind of movie villain. He is complex.

SEE: Made of bees! I’d call that complex.

Virginia Madsen is a great leading lady, both accessible and human. We bear witness to her destruction, and we empathize. How could we not? Helen is caught up in something beyond her comprehension — and Virgina Madsen’s wide blue eyes do triple-duty conveying madness, helplessness, and confusion. She is not the virginal “final girl” that horror film audiences have been subjected to ad nauseum. Helen is both flawed, fragile, and recklessly courageous — the perfect foil for Candyman. It should also be made public knowledge that Virginia Madsen has what I would like to refer to as:

THE best rack in Hollywood.

Candyman is a simple masterpiece — haunting, elegant, and scary. The Phillip Glass score plinks out a beautifully surreal melody, enveloping the film in the atmosphere of a dark fairy tale. Bloody and satisfying as a horror film, Candyman surprises the audience with passion and romance. This film serves as one of the most unique slasher films I’ve seen. Undoubtedly satisfying, an instant modern horror classic.

ON A SCALE OF 1-10: Gorgeously horrific. 10.