The Saint of Soy vs. The God of Groovy

Bruce Campbell is the most beloved B-movie actor of the modern era, and rightfully so. With his boomstick-sharp chin and rubber-made expressions, he's a tad too quirky for leading man roles and far too conspicuous for character actor status.  A Bruce Campbell movie is always A Bruce Campbell movie, so it's only fitting that he would direct himself in the very funny, very goofy, quite imperfect and mega meta My Name Is Bruce, a sort of JCVD by way of The Three Amigos.


Perhaps the best initial decision of My Name Is Bruce was to make the character of Bruce Campbell an absolute jerk. This is the kind of celebrity you giddily approach at Chiller Theater, not for a $25 signed photo, but simply to get an honest handshake. His reaction? Avoid eye contact and extend limp wrist as if it weighed more than modern Val Kilmer (*cough cough Tom Savini New Jersey 2004). This Campbell feeds whiskey to his son-of-a-bitch dog, slobberly hits on his co-star, drunk dials his ex-wife (Ash's first unlucky Cheryl) and occasionally sends disabled autograph seekers to the emergency room (and they occasionally deserve it).

Mixed in with our early introductions of Campbell are a few scenes establishing small town terror in Oregon. A pair of punky teenagers--one a diehard Evil Dead-head who won't accept liking Bubbah Ho Tep as BC cred--do as horror teens do and unleash an ancient demon in a graveyard. The only logical solution to save the quickly dwindling population (the emergency is made more serious as the official Welcome sign painter is running dangerously low on population marking paint) is to kidnap the man behind the chainsaw and hope that three go arounds with Sam Raimi are enough experience to fight a decapitation happy monster. Since business in Hollywood is slow (although Cave Alien 3 + 4 are already greenlit for a Bulgarian shoot), and the fanboy's mom is single, Campbell agrees.


What follows is a good time that never quite reaches greatness. Campbell is a hoot as a Hollywood has-been (or never-was), but the script isn't quite tight enough to truly render it a classic. There are certainly moments of grandeur--Campbell's initial confrontation with the demon finally answers the question I've always had about movie characters running away and firing behind blindly--but I guess when I hear that Bruce Campbell is playing himself battling the Protector of War and Bean Curd, I expect brilliance. Don't get me wrong: I genuinely enjoyed this movie, and anyone with a sense of humor about horror will too.

High Points
Nobody can pull off gloating quite like Bruce Campbell

...the same could be said for shooting spitballs at small town mayors

Guan-di’s love of tofu makes this the best vegetarian propaganda since Troll 2

Ted Rami's performance as a Frenchish sign painter dedicated to his art is obvious but charming

Low Points
Ted Raimi's performance as an elderly Chinese man is obvious but borders on Mickey Rooney level offensiveness


The incredibly twangy theme song left me wanting more moments of ridiculous musical interludes

As a big fan of tofu, I think the Protector of Bean Curd could have been, I don't know, a tad more soyous

Lessons Learned
Bruce Campbell is the only man alive who can utter "Give me some sugar baby" and actually get it

Violence against old people has a pretty darn high rate of funniness


Chainsaws are indeed very heavy

Winning Line
“I’ll be right back. Don’t do anything quaint until I return.”

Rent/Bury/Buy
Buy for Bruce. It’s a silly horror spoof made for fans and it’s impossible not to crack a few smiles. Maybe I’m slightly jaded from having just viewed Severance--a better made film with more complex jokes--but My Name Is Bruce is a light and fluffy good time. It won’t change your life, but seeing Bruce Campbell decked out in a Hawaiian shirt showing off his dance moves, abusing old women and orphaning children without consequence will make your day a little brighter.

Just a Snack of Wisdom

I work in an office, which means that quite often, the highlight of my day is crushing a factory-made fortune cookie in search of the meaning of life. Today, I think I found it:


"Fear is just excitement in need of an attitude adjustment."





The food, however, was underwhelming.

You Can't Fire Me. I'm Dead!

Your co-workers are generally not your friends. Nor are they family or even the people you might share half priced appetizers with over happy hour. Still, what a show like The Office knows is that the men and women you see every day occupy a definite place in your life. There is unwritten protocol for dealing with your manager, who in turn has his or her own understanding in agreeing or disagreeing with the big boss. Temp a bit in any work setting and chances are good that you’ll meet the token kissup, the hotshot who somehow avoids termination despite a bad attitude towards superiors, and the good-looking worker who amasses a batch of unrequited crushes around the cubicles.


Severance, a 2006 horror comedy from the UK, starts with a deliciously ripe premise. Employees from Palisade Defense (the kind of company funded by both the American and British government, hence, in one character’s words, “They’re not going to do anything immoral”) are being rewarded/tortured with a “team building” getaway in the forests of what seems to be Hungary. When their bus encounters a block in the road and the driver refuses to go any farther, the mid-level manager forces his underlings onward to an abandoned home he takes to be the luxury lodge they were promised. Before long, strategically placed bear traps, land mines, and flame throwers force staff cooperation that no paintball game could ever muster.

Having gone on two “management training” weekends (once to a ski resort, once to an abandoned country house not unlike the setting of this film), I identified quickly with the poor chaps in Severance. While my experiences were not quite as bloody, they did include “teamwork” exercises like building egg parachutes and making crayon murals of what our jobs meant to us. The idea was nice, but spending those precious days of the week normally reserved for avoiding all semblances of the workplace with co-workers in their pajamas does nothing to endear your occupation to your heart. Severance gets that.

Also, it’s pretty much hysterical. The actors--mostly British with a token Canadian Faculty alum Laura Harris--have excellent comic timing and genuinely feel like an unhappy office family. Toby Stephens stands out as the snarkiest of the bunch, but every performance rings true. Director/co-writer Christopher Smith consistently balances humor with horror in a way that made me chuckle and wince throughout the running time. There’s gore a’plenty, and since you actually like the characters, the deaths come with added weight.

High Points
A conversation about decapitation gets a payoff that’s kept a smile on my face for two days and counting


Removable shelves should be standard on compact refrigerators; you never know what large object you might need to stick inside

It’s refreshing to see multiple female characters making smart and ballsy decisions throughout the film


Low Points
Perhaps the early talking scenes go on a tad too long for bloodthirsty horror hounds, but it’s all entertaining


No trust exercises?


Lessons Learned
Do not attempt to pry open a bear trap unless you have the strength to keep it opened long enough to dislodge what’s stuck inside

Hold music is crappy in any language


Always read the instructions before firing a rocket launcher


The standard baking time for a found meat pie is one hour


Rent/Bury/Buy
This one belongs on your shelf, preferably next to Shawn of the Dead for a match made in British Horror Heaven (where Peter Cushing guards the gates, of course). Imagine throwing the characters of The Office into the hostel in Hostel, and you’ll get a good idea of what to expect. The gore is high and the laughs are hearty. Pour some tea and enjoy with a scone.

NERD ALERT! Brian Keene's Dead Sea

I’m generally underwhelmed by horror fiction because in my experience, it's too often riddled with clunky language and character cliches. Every now and then, however, I brave the library in search of a good gore-filled read to make the subways more interesting and long lines less infuriating.


Brian Keene, author of the well-known zombie epic The Rising, is quickly establishing himself as a major figure in the undead world of corpse-munching bookworms. Dead Sea was published in 2007, and packaged in a conveniently petite package, it’s pure comfort food. If World War Z is a five star meal at an unpronounceable Zagat rated restaurant with three forks and cloth napkins, Dead Sea is a greasy burger oozing in cheddar cheese and served with salty fries.


The novel begins in the projects of Baltimore (complete with a much-appreciated-by-me shout-out to The Wire), where our narrator, Lamar Reed, is struggling to cope with the city-wide infection of Hamelin’s Revenge (as the plague is commonly called due to its origin from rats). Zombies are rampant, in both human and various animal forms. As Baltimore stars to burn, Lamar is forced on the move and quickly befriends two spunky kids and an incredibly useful gun enthusiast/ex-Bible salesman. After a series of undead swarms (one of which includes a tiger), the group boards a retired Coast Guard ship with a motley crew of diverse survivors.


Dead Sea has quite a lot to offer zombie fans. Keene spares no grisly detail as he describes the walking dead so well, you can almost smell the stench of rotting flesh. The concept of Hamelin’s Revenge “jumping species” is truly terrifying and opens up a whole new realm of horror possibilities rarely explored by other works. Any zombie fan living in a coastal area probably assumes that in the event of disaster, the ocean is the safest place. Sure. Because zombies don’t swim. But zombie humans walk. And logic would follow, a zombie fish...well, I’ll avoid spoilers and just tell you to buy the book.


One of the most refreshing aspects of Dead Sea is Keene’s prose. As our narrator, Lamar has a strong and unique character voice, aided by the fact that he’s gay and black in a genre that rarely acknowledges a man like his existence. There are no token romances or overly villainous stock characters, and while Keene does get a little too obvious in dressing up his heroes with blatant discussions on archetypes and Joseph Campbell references, the novel ultimately succeeds in creating people to care about in a world ready to devour them.

The Zane of My Exiztenze

Children of the 21st century, gather around my flatscreen yule log as we tiptoe back in time to a simpler period of cinema history, when super heroes wore tights and Tales From the Crypt went Hollywood. Only in this era (known by common folk as the mid-90s) could one thick-voiced thespian with a shiny bald head and constant scowl head a major summer release in purple spandex. It saddens me to reminisce, but thinking about the slipping career of the mangod that is Billy Zane gives me one more reason to doubt the order of evolution.

Browsing through the horror catalogue of the NY Public Library, I came upon a recent DVD starring le Zane (oooh, that’s good) and Stephen Baldwin (oooh, that’s bad), featuring crop circles (hmm, that might be good) that "unleash unfathomable terror" upon a “close-knit group” (I’ll stop reading the back of the box now). The description is lacking, but let’s face it: there’s no way I’m turning down a Billy Zane vs. aliens flick, especially in these dark ages where such a vehicle seems so inexplicably hard to find.


If IMDB is to be trusted, Silent Warnings was filmed in under twelve days, so I can't be too hard on it. C'mon. It takes more time to celebrate Kwanza or grease Zane into his Phantom costume. I'll tread lightly on this little Belgium-filmed thriller, which comes close to creating genuine suspense before terribly rendered Nintendo 64 quality CGI chokes up the final act.


Quick Plot: We open with PC Baldwin (post-Christian) given far too much free reign to improvise a one-man survivalist video diary as an unseen menace attacks his farmhouse. It's amazing how badly this former addict plays a man taking a few drinks, but at least he seems to be having a good time firing a shotgun and chatting up an almost Onibaba-esque scarecrow (that movie really did stay with me, eh?). It’s the kind of performance that makes Will Smith’s meet-cute mannequin scene of I Am Legend look Oscar worthy.


Minor Spoiler: Despite being blown up before the title, Baldwin maintains top billing in the credits, possibly to keep his devoted fans watching or more likely to make the rest of us frightened that his hamminess will return (this was in the horror section, after all). Thankfully, the film moves on to introduce a better/saner young cast as they make their way to renovate the late Baldwin’s abandoned home. Boring mini melodramas follow as Shyamalanian crop circles pop up in the surrounding cornfields. Sheriff Billy Zane (seemingly sleeping off a major hangover for most of filming) offers little help but lots of cool as tension builds in and around the house over a week and a half.

Yes, a week and a half. I know this because the movie insists on title cards that tell you the days of the week. This makes sense for a movie like The Shining, where the progression of time is key, but in Silent Warnings, showing us that it’s Wednesday just serves as a reminder that nothing happened on Tuesday and Lost is on tonight.


The young actors work hard, and while their characters are fairly forgettable, the effort is admirable. There’s the mysterious girl who has never seen a cow (but is not an alien), the black guy who makes wise cracks, the jock to add aggression, his psychic girlfriend to get naked, and a blonde suffering from a severely elongated torso that renders every one of her tops to stop about four inches above her waist (or maybe the budget didn't allow for adult sized clothing; it’s unclear). A.J. Buckley has a nice presence as Layne, the thoughtful group leader and cousin to the late Baldwin's wacked out farmer. There's far too much downtime, but I'll give director Christian McIntire credit for creating non-obnoxious young characters who don't make me want to invite Jason Voorhees over for a stereotype scavenger hunt.

Eventually, the monsters are revealed and much like the 2002 twisty extraterrestrial thriller it blatantly rips off, Silent Warnings comes to a rubber burning halt. I enjoyed Signs for its steady build of eerie tension, but all of my uneasiness was laughed away at the full-frame shot of the video game refugee with big eyes. Silent Warnings magnifies the mistake with villainous aliens so fake you can count the pixels. It’s a shame, too. Once Baldwin is gone and the Zane wakes up, you actually start to care about the cast for the final attack to have some depth.


High Points
An excellent soundtrack creates some major intensity, particularly towards the climax


Any project that keeps Stephen Baldwin busy means less television appearances and Jesus rants for the rest of us


The image of Billy Zane facing evil intergalactic monsters makes me feel warm inside


Low Points
The actual aliens make the CGI attacks of Shark Attack 3: Megladon look positively Spielbergian

Providing no explanation of the invasion doesn’t necessarily hurt the film, but an attempt might have at least distanced Silent Warnings another inch away from Signs


Lessons Learned
Telling someone “you ain’t got no character” is a great way to make your friends laugh for five minutes


Just because a woman says you’re attractive does not give you permission to peep on her as she undresses next door


The Flanders were right: iron is good for you

Letter jackets worn by 30+ year old actors playing young twentysomethings makes said actors look far older


Winning Line
“I love you. I love your body. That’s the truth.”
This is said to a beautiful young topless woman who is insecure around her athletic boyfriend because she’s not, like, a cheerleader or like, the cheerleader type. Firstly, are cheerleaders still considered the hot holy grails of male college loins? And more importantly, is “not a cheerleader type” code for brunette?


Rent/Bury/Buy
This is above average Sci-Fi Channel fodder that is far better than it really has any right to be. That being said, one watch is most likely more than enough for most genre fans. Unless you’re sorely missing the once ubiquitous film presence of Master Zane and worry that he didn’t sign the right line for Titanic residuals, stick Silent Warnings somewhere on your Netflix queue or wait for a random cable airing and turn off the lights.

My Mother-In-Law Is a Demon. But How Are You?

One of the things I love about post-apocalyptic fiction is how human beings are so quickly turned into ravenous scavengers. Without the comfort of modern society, the consensus seems to be that our daily lives will consist of finding what’s edible and tearing it apart with our bare hands. Sleep. Hunt. Repeat. Not nearly as much fun as it sounds.

Set in feudal Japan during a chaotic (offscreen) civil war, Onibaba tells the hellish story of two desperate women with fierce survival instincts and incredibly primal appetites. Left alone in the grassy countryside, the only way to eat is to slaughter renegade samurai and trade their military garb for meager rations from the general store (or hut). Life is bare existence, as the pair--an old woman and her dutiful daughter-in-law--toil through the days, shoveling rice into their mouths, sleeping nude amongst the sweltering heat and aggressive drum beats, and filling deep Freudian holes with warrior corpses. The closest they come to joy is the rabid and successful hunt of a meaty puppy.


Enter Hachi, a surviving veteran of sorts (he went AWOL in a war no one seems to be keeping track of by dressing like a priest) who promptly (well, after a free meal) informs his hostesses that the man they share is dead. There’s little time for mourning as Hachi lusts after the widow, the widow coordinates nighttime trysts with Hachi, and the mother plots to keep her only companion. The highlight for most viewers comes in the third act, when a wandering samurai meets the increasingly embittered mother-in-law. Their odd little walkabout is intriguing in itself, but what follows is a wonderfully wicked ending ripped out of a Buddhist morality tale.

Like The Virgin Spring, Onibaba features a medieval setting, internal religious conflict, and a female deeply enslaved to her animal nature. Where Bergman's film explored the weakness of Christianity in the face of primal rage, Shindo Kaneto's story seems less concerned with religious karma and more intent on bringing our basic human needs and desires onto the screen. Our nameless (anti)heroines are the creatures of myth, but one of the brilliant aspects of Onibaba is just how believable their hunger is. With their lives boiled down to survival, what more can they want but a full meal and a gratifying roll in the tall grass?

High Points
A soundtrack filled with frantic drums and the occasional scream is extraordinary in establishing a world without order


Some genuine humor, particularly from the magnetic Kei Sato as Hachi


Low Points
I won’t go into spoilers, but one of our characters has a more definite conclusion than the others, and it’s so sudden that its significance feels lost


Lessons Learned
Never put something on your face when you don’t know where it’s been

Just in case you had any doubts, living with your mother-in-law is not a good idea


Sex in a bad economy is worth one bag of millet

Rent/Bury/Buy
Any DVD issued by the Criterion Collection is automatically worth the splurge (based both on quality of film and loaded features), and Onibaba is no different. The visual design is both horrifying and haunting, the score is uniquely violent, and the performances create memorable--if not overly likable-- characters that fill their archetypal roles while maintaining genuine charisma. This is a classic that earns its ranking.

I get lost in your eyes...

While I recover from the Oscars (it's a three day process, especially when said ceremony features Hugh Jackman performing an interpretive dance about The Reader) I thought I'd present a niblet of food for thought. Is it just me, or was England's most lovable claymation canine inspired by the Japanese demon mask worn by the samurai in Onibaba?