Hands Up

I knew it would happen eventually, but that doesn’t make me any less happy that we are finally living in a time where the ‘90s are considered retro. On one hand, it certainly makes me feel old; on the other, it sure is fine to giggle at how attractive my generation found skater culture and moppy haircuts!

Quick Plot: Anton (Caspar incarnate Devan Sawa) is a lazy teen stoner who takes a few days to discover his parents have been murdered, maybe even by him. After smoking a mixture of spice rack leftovers, Anton's hand becomes possessed by an evil murderous spirit.

First to suffer are Anton's buds Pnub and Mick (Oz himself, Seth Green). Anton's hand sends fatal deathblows to both but since Pnub and Mick are too lazy to walk towards the eternal white light, both end up stuck in a cheerful state of zombiehood that's mostly tempered with duct tape. 

Anton, meanwhile, finds some use out of his condition by sending effective bad boy vibes to his hot neighbor Molly (Jessica Alba, in the typical Jessica Alba role of looking great and acting like imitation wood). Across town, Druidic priestess Vivica A. Fox (go with it) hooks up with local bad boy Jack Noseworthy (best known as 'that guy playing a dick' in every late '90s movie ever made) to help hunt down the possessed appendage.

Directed by Rodman Flender (he of another alum of The Shortening, 1990's The Unborn), Idle Hands was a box office flop that eventually found a minor cult following on video. Part of its initial failure is fairly attributed to its timing (the film was released just a few weeks after the Columbine massacre) but in another way, this is the kind of movie designed for teenage genre fans to pass around in their parents’ basements. Much along the lines of something like Billy Madison, Idle Hands is just a silly comedy that I can see getting a little funnier with repeat viewing. Add in the fact that this is dripping with ‘90s nostalgia and you’re left with a more hit-than-miss comedy that has aged like a nice cup of Surge.

High Notes

Tragically, he only gets the film's prologue, but I would give five stars to the film-stealing talents of the always wonderful Fred Willard. Just listen to how he pronounces "Halloween" in the opening and tell me he doesn't deserve an Oscar

Low Notes

Sure, Anton is supposed to be pretty worthless, but having your protagonist be so jerky that he doesn't even care too much about his parents' slaughter isn't the most endearing aspect of your film

Lessons Learned

It's incredibly easy to give CPR to druidic priestesses

Duct tape: never not the answer to everything

A cornucopia is like a horn of plenty

Electric pencil sharpeners make quite handy (pun somewhat intended) tools for clawing up your nails

Rent/Bury/Buy

Idle Hands is a dumb horror comedy, but let's face it: some dumb horror comedies are an awful lot of fun. Sort of like a slightly less ambitious Jennifer's Body, this is a good little watch for a kick-back-with-a-beer kind of evening. '90s enthusiasts will appreciate some of the timeliness of its references ("I'll make sweet love to you Red Shoe Diaries style," for example) and horror nerds might dig its play on conventions. A peek under the bed AND blatant cat scare in the first five minutes? Yeah, it gets itself.

Shortening Cred: The titular hand (really it's just one) won't be riding any rollercoasters any time soon.

How Do You Say 'Bridezilla' In Spanish?

Although it doesn't feel quite as original today, 2007's REC made a well-deserved splash on the genre world at the time of its debut, less for its then-new concept (found footage fast running zombies in a quarantined apartment) than for the simple fact that it was a well-made, well-acted, effectively staged and ultimately scary little movie. Its sequel proved to be equally ambitious, especially in expanding the mysterious nature of its viral-infused cannibal killers and finding fresh ideas to keep the occasionally nauseating first-person camerawork working within the context of its story.

While REC and REC2 were co-directed by Jaume Balaguero and Paco Plaza, REC3 sees a split, with Plaza (he the man behind the wonderfully fresh The Christmas Tale from the 6 Films To Keep You Awake series) taking solo reins.

Apparently, he's the funny one.

Quick Plot: Koldo and Clara are enjoying a very loving, slightly tacky wedding on the Spanish countryside. Among the guests is Koldo's genial uncle Victor wearing a conspicuous bandage over his wrist. When asked about his wound, he innocently explains that he was bit by a dog at a veterinarian's office, a red flag alert for anyone who's watched the first two films in this franchise.

After the cake is cut (with a conveniently intimidating samurai sword no less), the guests notice the seemingly drunk Victor hanging over a bannister on the second floor. When he topples over, they rush to his aide only to, you know, become immediate victims of a fast moving zombie rabies possession virus.

Our story then divides itself between our bride and groom, who are frantically separated in the chaos on the quickly bloodening dance floor. Both vow to find one another again, especially following the not at all expected revelation that Clara is expecting.

If you have seen the first two REC films (which surprisingly, you don't actually need to do to enjoy this one) there are certain series tropes you've probably come to expect. Most notably would be the found footage style that defined the first film and was utilized with some creative tricks in its sequel. The biggest gripe from many a viewer regarding REC3 will probably come here. While the first twenty or so minutes are shown to us--quite effectively and very humorously--through the lens of a wedding guest's camera, the film abruptly abandons this style when the real action kicks in. Following that, we get spurts of other media--night vision mode on a camcorder, security footage in black and white--but ultimately, the bulk of REC3 is filmed in a standard manner.

I am okay with this.

Narratively, it's a cheat. Why bother giving us a wedding guest's POV if you have no plans to follow through with it? you might ask. Well, says I, mostly to spare your audience a 50 minute headache and lingering sense of nausea. I've come around on found footage and admit that it now defines some of this generation's best independent horror cinema, but at the same time, I still find it, on a physical level, rather unpleasant to sit through. Like District 9, REC3 breaks its own rule with no real excuse but when the benefit lies in the viewer, how can you really complain?

The other major shift comes in the general tone, which is almost all-out horror comedy. Director Plaza never hesitates to give us heartfelt deaths or moments of genuine tragedy, but most of the action is done with a wink. The film doesn't quite cross Evil Dead 2 lines of bonkers, but it flirts with the barrier in a fresh and fun way. It's both tense and gross when a wedding guest starts chewing on a bridesmaid's face, but when you throw in a drunk man dressed as a knockoff version of SpongeBob Squarepants wielding a shotgun, you can't not laugh at the absurdity. 

I'm not sure that Plaza perfectly balances the gruesome violence with the humor, but the result is ultimately a truly enjoyable 80 minutes of high energy zombie fun. Grounding it all is the sweet central romance that manages to keep us strongly invested in the leads' fates.

High Points
It's always nice to see a strong female lead in a horror film, and Leticia Doler's Clara is a pleasantly pro-active (and impressively resourceful) surprise

As much as REC3 feels a tad more comedy than horror, it still manages to produce some genuinely unnerving moments, including the beyond tragic fate of a shuttle bus captured in hauntingly black and white security footage

Low Points
The aforementioned found footage switcharoo should have been a tad more justified

The Jury's Out
I'm sure I wasn't alone in cheering on Clara as she slashed at her now bloodied wedding gown with a kickass chainsaw. It's a wonderful moment that yields a grand poster-ready sight. But aside from it referencing Alice's asymmetrical red number in the first Resident Evil film, is there any reason she wouldn't circulate that cut for full mobility?

Lessons Learned
When choosing your wedding venue, be sure to consider such important factors as its number of decorative armored knights

Fire hoses are the most versatile of all zombie hunting/escaping weapons

The term 'MILF' transcends language barriers

Rent/Bury/Buy
While REC can nudge its way onto the always arguable lists of best modern horror films, REC3 will probably be the one I and other movie fans revisit more. This isn't a great genre film, but it has so much fun with itself that by the end, I couldn't resist it. Don't expect the frantic pacing and horror of its predecessors, but check it out when you're in the mood for lighter (but equally bloody) fare.

Swapping Scarecrows For Working Wax

I know I haven’t been celebrating the greatest month of all with the usual candy corn fueled fervor I keep in reserve, but times have been busy here in the actual Doll’s House. After apartment hunting with more gusto than Gary Busey bare handing it in Surviving the Game, I’ve since moved on to the act of packing with more reluctance than Paul Rudd cleaning up his breakfast tray in Wet Hot American Summer. Still to come: the part where my fella and I face the first real test of our relationship by battling for poster space, followed by my cats meeting/hopefully not killing their new stepsisters.

You might say I’ve been stressed.

But thankfully, there’s one semi-monthly tradition that always soothes the crazed soul: the Lightning Bugg Doll’s House Swaparoo! In honor of the glory of October, T.L. Bugg and I went the good old fashioned Instant Watch horror route. Over at his Lair, I assigned Zach one of those VHS staples of the ‘80s that always warmed my straw heart: 1988’s Scarecrows.

My assignment? That very same year’s cult horror comedy Waxwork.

It has a little person butler and everything!

Quick Plot: In a sunny college town, a group of spoiled university students stumble upon a ‘hey, how’d that get there overnight?’ wax museum called Waxwork run by none other than genre stalwart David Warner. This is awesome on its own, but get ready to pick up some messy pieces as I make your head explode:

He’s dressed as if he ransacked Willy Wonka’s closet.

As if that wasn’t enough, he also heads a satanic wax museum with the best security system of all time. See, if any of the wanderers dare to cross that oh-so-tempting velvet rope, he or she ends up transported to an alternate dimension where the scene of the waxy display is real. That would be fine if Waxwork focused on happy periods in history, like discovering the cure to polio or the day peanut butter met banana. 

Then again, when was the last time you entered a wax museum and didn’t leave with a nagging sense of the icks? They’re inherently creepy places. Even the purely historical one I visited in Virginia a few years back seemed designed to steal the souls of every patron.

The scenes on display inside Waxwork are more in line with horror fans than history hunters, with vampires, werewolves, mummies, and phantoms luring our snarky teens into grizzly fates. The wealthy brat Mark (played by Face of the 80s Zach Galligan) and hungry virgin Sarah make it through the night, but there’s still another day of battle to wage.

You know how there are some films that other people seem to adore, yet the one time you tried to watch it you just couldn’t keep your eyes on the screen? That was how I always felt about Waxwork, perhaps in part because its first big sequence involves werewolves. As I’ve said before, it’s a monster that just doesn’t do anything for me one way or another. While I can appreciate the metaphorical aspect of man’s darker side (or menstruation metaphor of a female’s redder one), I generally find the execution to be either dull or just plain silly looking.

Such was my initial experience with Waxwork a few months ago, when I sat down to what I had always assumed was an ‘80s horror movie about killer wax mannequins but is, whaddya know? actually a comedy more focused on throwback horror monsters. Writer/director Anthony Hickox (he of the decent Hellraiser III) is clearly having a ball with giving us classic movie villains with an ever so slight twist. It’s not many an ‘80s teen horror film that would feature a fencing duel between its unlikable antihero and a pirate-styled Marquis de Sade, but Waxwork seems intent on being something special.

I see that now.

High Points

There’s a character named China (played by Michelle Johnson) who responds quite smartly to her vampiric dilemma. In a period where even the bravest final girl usually ran through boxes of Kleanex before lucking into victory, it’s nice to see a female character (and one presented as the bitchy slut at that) use her wits when needed

Any final reel that involves wheelchair-bound old dudes battling zombies, vampires, axe-wielders and werewolves can’t be half bad!

Low Points

Due to my intense discomfort with wax figures, I would have liked to see Waxwork utilize that fear factor a little more, rather than focusing so much on some of its Universal tributes

Lessons Learned

Having drinks with the butler leads to anarchy

If you think of completely raw, possibly human meat as steak tartar, it goes down slightly easier

Dictators have the shouting voices and the small mustaches

Stray Confusion

John Rhys-Davies 

Jonathan Rhys Meyers:

Not the same person. One day, I'll understand that.

Rent/Bury/Buy

Now streaming on Instant Watch, Waxwork is good fun so long as you know that’s what you’re getting. I think my initial humbug reaction came from expectation: I wanted a waxy horror film and got an affectionate horror comedy. Thankfully, this time around I wanted a good time and Waxwork is busting with that. 

Thanks as always to my righteous recommender Zach. To see what that southern fried lightning bug thought of Scarecrows (an eerie little dark ride that I’ve always felt deserved more love) then grab some corn on the cob for the ride and head on over!

Notting Worm

I’ve never thought myself to be much of a Hugh Grant fan (namely because the man spent enough time with Elizabeth The Demon Hurley to probably be one knicker in hell already). But put him in a Ken Russell-directed horror film about ancient worm things where the fluffy Brit gets to make jokes about how his slutty maids should be wearing ancient chastity belts, and I’m kind of sold.

Quick Plot: A young Scottish archaeologist-in-training named (of course) Angus is sifting through the yard of a quaint bed and breakfast run by sisters Eve and Mary. The ladies have been spending the summer searching for their missing parents, while Angus is all about excavating a dinosaur. Meanwhile on the more mansion-y side of town, Eve's rich boyfriend John (Grant) is throwing fancy dance parties to celebrate the local legend of a giant worm.

It's a way more happening place than Dogpatch, especially when the mysterious 

Sylvia Marsh arrives in town to make a whole lot of double entendric statements about snakes. See, as you'll find out near immediately, Lady Sylvia is a bit of a worm devotee, a reincarnated or really ancient evil thing that sacrifices virgins (obviously) to the famed worm of John's fiesta happenings. Surely she has NOTHING to do with the disappearance of the wait a minute! symbolically named Mary and Eve's parents (and eventually, Mary and Eve themselves).

Directed by the generally much more experimental Ken Russell (The Devils, Tommy, Gothic), The Lair of the White Worm is an odd little hybrid that has justifiably earned a minor cult reputation. Aside from the future Divine Brown Toy For a Day, I imagine a good deal of its appeal comes from the simultaneously light-hearted and gruesome tone. 

Despite being based (loosely, I'm guessing) on a Bram Stoker novel, The Lair of the White Worm is horror comedy in its truest form. Yes, there's nun-rape, but it's so theatrically presented that it's hard to think of the scene as disturbing. The blossoming romance between Mary and Angus is sweet and without irony, while Grant's take on the wannabe detective John is never dull. The effects haven't exactly aged well--any scene that lingers on the titular monster ends up feeling more Bert I. Gordon than Tremors--but the violence has an entertaining gooeyness that nostalgically holds up.

High Points

It's quite easy to see why Hugh Grant went on to success with slightly morally askew but lovably fumbling British gent roles. As the rich but not cruel playboy, he brings a wonderful dryness to the part, proving that few men could deliver a line like "I like Mr. Flint’s hole. It's rather fascinating," with the same naughtiness

Low Points

Sure, there's something to the whole displaced knight thing, but it would've been a tad more interesting and modern to not have to watch the two female characters spend the last third of the film cowering in fear and crying through gags

Lessons Learned

Contrary to popular belief, Romans did not keep pet dinosaurs

Snake cultists are incredibly creative when it comes to dildos...land I mean Tetsuo levels of creativity

In order to play the bagpipe, one must don a kilt (duh)

The Deadly Doll's Dating Advice

And to anyone (most likely male) who has been made to sit through other Grant fodder like Notting Hill or Bridget Jones: The Edge of Reason, might I recommend proposing this to the missus for movie night? Simply sell it as "A young Hugh Grant!" and offer to nuke the popcorn yourself. You will get some (of what I dunno, but you know....some).


Rent/Bury/Buy

The Lair of the White Worm isn't a masterpiece, but it has a wonderfully cheeky charm about it that has aged well. Sure, the bargain priced practical effects are somewhat analogous to the terror of cheap modern CGI, but the actors--Grant in particular--understand how to spread the humor, making it feel almost in tone with a British version of Fright Night. Sadly the DVD is barren of any special feature (including subtitles! and isn’t Scottish its own language?) but if you haven't seen the film, it's certainly worth a rental.

Triple D Action (But probably not the kind you're hoping for)

Look, SOMEONE had to see Dylan Dog: Dead of Night. Brandon Routh's mom can only buy so many tickets before the poor lug starts getting suspicious.

Quick Plot: Dylan Dog (Superman Returns’ Routh) is a private investigator stuck with goofy sidekick Marcus (Superman Returns’ Jimmy Olsen, because apparently there was some kind of sale), a token tragic past involving a dead love, and a really, really stupid name. Though he makes a decent living digging up dirt on cheating spouses, Dylan Dog’s real talent lies in monitoring New Orleans enormous population of vampire club kids, werewolf butchers, zombie bouncers and international antiques smugglers.

It’s the latter that starts Dead of Night (out of respect, I’ll refer to this naively self-believing franchise starter by its subtitle so clearly designed to be the first of many Dylan Dogs that will never be made). Dylan Dog reluctantly takes a job investigating the death of a relics trader whose daughter Elizabeth (or just call her The Girl) quickly velcros herself to Dylan Dog’s rigidly ripped chest. Before you can say true blood--and don’t worry, it’s said a lot--Dylan Dog is fighting werewolves, appendage shopping for the newly zombified Marcus, staring down evil club owning vampire Taye Diggs and sorta kinda bemoaning the loss of his past lady love who was--big surprise--brutally slaughtered some time ago.

You might have noticed the fact that I have only been referring to Routh's character by his full Dylan Dog name. When you have a character with such a title, it behooves a lowly blogger to use the words 'Dylan Dog' as often as possible in a review because really, has there ever been a better named protagonist in cinema history?

Dylan Dog!

Going into Dead of Night (teehee), my expectations were not high. In truth, they were lower than a limbo stick at an Attack of the Puppet People beach party. The fact that I don’t know a single living creature that has seen the film didn’t bode well, and the trailer made me think it was actually a CW mid-season replacement (in part because I don’t know the difference between Brandon Routh and Tom Welling). I’m still not entirely certain Mr. Routh is an actual human being. Part of me is convinced he was simply grown and harvested in a laboratory to play Superman and with that film’s rightful bombing, is now being leased out half price to smaller action films in a bid to recoup some of the genetic farming costs.

But hey, why beat a handsome hunk of wood when his film has already opened in 18th place with a low per screen average? Dead of Night is imperfect all around, but it’s also surprisingly fun. The film never tries to take itself remotely serious, keeping a popcorn light atmosphere throughout its hand-to-hand Buffy-esque battles, supernatural mythology slideshows (seriously), and awkward barely there love scene that feels crammed in merely to prove Routh still has his Superman physique. Don’t mind the fact that he can’t seem to bend or emote.

This is the kind of movie that trusts the holographic Brandon Routh to narrate about 45% of its running time in what I guess was an attempt at capturing its original source material comic frames or old school hard-boiled detective mood. That was the first of Dead of Night's many mistakes, though after a while, you kind of forgive it. Unlike a lot of slicker studio horror films, Dead of Night at least *tries* to entertain, pulling out every possible trick it can muster to give you a small smile. Most of its jokes have been done before and better, but there's a genuine charm about how much it wants to make you happy. 

Think of it as the cinematic equivalent of Clippy, that bright-eyed but useless icon that used to stalk your typing in Microsoft Word. It REALLY wants to please. It will most likely be deleted.

High Points

He doesn’t get nearly enough screentime, but Peter Stormare’s werewolf patriarch easily lends some juicy sparkle where it counts, particularly after a too-long intro focused squarely on the cardboard Routh. More teeth-clicking please.

Low Points

So that big buildup to the monster master happened. Then it ended. That was that eh?

Lessons Learned

Women who bang vampires are also the world’s heaviest sleepers

The go-to accessory for true blood addicts is a beanie

Before activating your apocalyptic vampire relic, you should really consider reading that owner’s manual

A lesson to the ladies: post-coital vampire-warding-off gifts are actually useless, though they do make that morning seem nice and important

New Orleans is filled with many monsters, lots of worms, and a ton of New Yawk accents

The Winning Line

“The human race is obsolete y’all”

This is gigglesome for various reasons, the most prominent being that Taye Diggs is a smooth as butter man with an eloquent speaking (and singing) voice. So tossing in ‘y’all’ is ridiculous in a near-offensive manner. But also hilarious.

See/Skip/Sneak In

Dylan Dog: Dead of Night is like that quiet kid in your fourth grade class that everyone forgot existed. It’s not that he/she is mean or smelly or a Nazi or anything; just really forgettable. There’s a part of me that wants to encourage a matinee viewing just as penance to make up for all the years you didn’t invite Little Boring Classmate to your bowling alley birthday party. It’s a good-hearted film made by C-listers with lots of enthusiasm. There’s plenty of zombie humor (some quite inspired, a lot not at all) and some genuinely chucklesome monster gags that certainly make it an eventual lazy rental or instant watch. If you’re in a part of the world where the weather isn’t currently gorgeous and 65 degrees, then I suppose you could kill 100 minutes with a viewing. I'm not really advocating that you do, but I feel like no one else will and so, you know...buy a ticket if you're running from the cops and need a place to lay low for a while? That happens, right?