A Modest Proposal

We interrupt your somewhat steady dose of movie coverage to bring you breaking news:

I got a shiny ring.

Yup, it's time for me to start volumizing my hair to the height of Elsa Manchester, juice fasting to get the waist of Elvira, and campaigning to bring back Bridezillas for one last stomping.

Atop a beautifully scenic mountain in the western end of Massachusetts, my fella asked me to marry him. I said yes. We then celebrated with a classy dinner.

Don't worry: I don't plan on changing much around these here blogging parts, other than maybe, I don't know, switching the theme to something floral and only covering Lifetime movies from here on in. That's cool, right?

How I kid. I'll be back shortly with some non-nuptial-based writing. In the meantime, you can hear a pre-engaged me discuss The Faculty and Jennifer's Body on the latest Feminine Critique episode, read my defense of The Exorcist III over at Cinespect's 31 Days of Horror, or enjoy this picture of me telling Scott Wilson that The Ninth Configuration is the bee's knees.

With that said, let's get nuptialy!

Razzmatazz!

It’s easy to get angry over the annual injustice of the Academy Awards, but we can only mock Mira Sorvino’s luck or fruitlessly wave a David Cronenberg flag so many times before our own Oscar the Grouch routine sounds bitter. To thoroughly cite all the great genre performances and films neglected by the Academy Awards is as daunting a task as actually watching the ten Best Picture nominees of 2010 (mainly because that requires you to sit through The Blind Side), but there’s one annual national film society ceremony horror fans can, year after year, invest some stock in: The Golden Raspberries, aka the only trophy to be won by both Tom Green and Laurence Olivier.

We can be thankful that movies as awful as The Happening get recognized for the cinematic crimes they commit against the ticket buying public, but every now and then, the Razzies get it wrong. Sometimes it’s an oversight, as many voters probably try their darnest to erase the memory of certain bad films (I didn’t even remember that I’d seen Friday the 13th: Part XII this year. More often, the Razzmacademy gets a little too eager to punish some of the less critically acclaimed, but not necessarily awful cinema that’s simply an easy target. 

Here are a few Razzie wins and snubs that just don’t add up:

Megan Fox in Jennifer’s Body

There are a lot of people currently breathing who dream of watching the slow death/D-list descent of Ms. Megan Fox, but just because a person’s sound bites are more annoying than Mentos commercials doesn’t mean every single performance she gives is a total dud. In Jennifer’s Body--a film targeted as the second coming of Satan according to a vocal segment of the horror community--Fox is perfectly cast as a Mean Girl turned truly evil (not, like, high school evil) and hungry for the blood of horny teenage boys. Yes, Fox’s primary responsibility is to look hot in a cheerleader skirt, but she easily hits the right notes in a role custom made for her (probably limited) range. She’s no Jennifer Tilly in Seed of Chucky, but on a certain level, there’s some genuinely fun about her self-aware work. 

The Blair Witch/Book of Shadows

In fairness, the 1999 nomination for this juggernaut hit was probably more the result of general weariness from the onslaught of fan-films and true story debate than the actual quality of The Blair Witch Project. But a nomination for worst film? This in the year that was Baby Geniuses and Chill Factor? Similarly, the sequel continues to slowly build a late blooming audience who appreciate the film’s playful meta take on the very success of its predecessor. It’s not classic, but surely there were worse films to nab nominations in 2000. Don’t believe me? Hanging Up, Drowning Mona, Pokeman: The Movie, Digimon: The Movie, Autumn in New York, The Ladies Man, and Dungeons & Dragons might have something to say about that. If anybody remembered any of them existed. 

Paris Hilton in horror

I’m no Paris Hilton apologist. If I ever find a genetically deformed monkey’s paw, there’s a good chance its extra pinky may indeed be used to wish her fame into oblivion. That being said, there’s nothing about her underwhelming, if adequate performance in House of Wax that’s worse than Jessica Simpson’s slack-jawed mumbling in The Dukes of Hazard or, more importantly, Katie Holmes’ dull and unbelievable zombie stare in the nearly great The Dark Knight. I could easily call foul on the Razzie voting committee for her 2005 win, particularly when they gave her a hat trick four years later for one deservedly awful (beyond words) performance in The Hottie and the Nottie (please don’t ever make me type those words again) and one actual better than anyone expected (or wants to admit) performance in Repo! The Genetic Opera.

Anaconda

Great movie? Not by most standards. Damn good fun with decent production values and a rich sense of humor? You betcha. So why did 1997’s Anaconda earn a place in Razzie history with multiple nominations, including Worst Picture, Worst Supporting Actor (Jon Voight the performance of his career...seriously) and Worst New Star? More importantly, how is an animatronic/CGI snake considered a New Star?

The Shining

Stanley Kubrick was never a universally loved artist, but to cite him in the Worst Director  category at the Razzies debut ceremony is appalling in any time. At least he was in some highbrow company: Brian De Palma and William Friedken shared the honor.

Hate On Me, Not Horror

We horror fans are a surly bunch.

Opinionated. Angry. Easily disappointed and even more easily disheartened. When we’re subjected to hack job remakes and speedily rushed sequels at a rate that defies the speed of a cheetah, it’s no surprise that we tend to bash any movie that dares to appeal to our well-honed tastes. What I wonder now, as Saw VI prepares to land its bloody feet on our ticket stubs, is if we were always such cinematic snobs.

Perhaps it’s the extreme nature at the very heart of most horror films that breeds such intense negativity. I guarantee that just as many people disliked the last tepid romantic comedy as those who greeted Halloween 2 with sneers (I was among the latter group), but you won’t see IMDBers drawing petitions to remove Diane Lane from Must Love Dogs with quite the same levels of ire as those itching to go all Godfather on Sheri Moon-Zombie and her fine white horse. 

Hating bad horror films is nothing to be ashamed of, especially if the films in question are made and marketed with little heart or respect to what its fans actually want. My problem with the oft-irked horror crowd is our habit of cracking the bad jokes before we actually sit down in the theater. I can’t count how many like-minded film lovers whose opinions I respect have issued death warrants to Jennifer’s Body based on its trailer, cast, and one-credit writer who has somehow amassed mass hatred by penning a single successful indie screenplay. Oh yeah, and of those who have cracked smug grins at the mention of its failed box office, take a guess how many actually confirmed their judgment by seeing the film. 

“Things were so much better in the ‘80s,” we grumble to our babysitting charges while taking a gulp from a rusty can of New Coke. Right, cinema was more innovative when a burly mute was silently slaughtering topless bimbos whose only method of survival was virginity and whininess. What have we come to when the most successful face of horror is a wrinkled old man with actual dialogue about the nature of mankind?

I won’t--and can’t--argue that the Saw series is composed of quality filmmaking, but every Halloween, I never fail to take a deep sigh before issuing a defense of the 5 and counting blockbuster(ish) films. Yes, the gore is gratuitous and the soundtrack grating, but how can someone who forked over $50 for the Friday the 13th boxed set still huff and puff about how torture porn is ruining the horror industry when Jason brought the bar down so low, the only escape was outer space? My idea of date night doesn’t usually include watching Brandon Walsh’s sociology professor get her rib cage torn apart, but at least Dina Meyer’s ill-fated detective was a literate and developed character. 

There’s something charming about ‘80s slasher cinema and daringly dark in the grindhouse days and cannibal genre of the ensuing years. Then again, there’s also more forgettable slashers than a Sesame Street vampire could count before sunrise.  And hey, it took a lot of cruelly killed wildlife in painfully unwatchable movies before Cannibal Holocaust cruelly killed wildlife to make a statement about such painfully wrought cinema. Maybe Martyrs’ twisted analysis of torture is the evolution of “gorenography”; just like we needed eight ho hum Halloween sequels before we could get a Behind the Mask: The Rise of Leslie Vernon, so each sub-genre needs to work itself out before it can achieve greatness. In the meantime, we as audiences watch what we like and judge what we actually see.

I can’t claim that we’re currently in a golden age of horror, as thus far, this decade has produced one masterpiece (Let the Right One In) and a few memorable gems that succeed mainly by honoring the old with a smart twist of new (Shaun of the Dead, The Descent, 28 Days Later). Still, there are plenty of modern films to make us celebrate the cinematic time we’re living in. Roll your eyes at Repo! The Genetic Opera for its headache-making chords, but don’t put it in punchlines and turn around with a ready-made rant about how filmmakers are currently devoid of creativity just because the few sparks of newness don’t appeal to your personal tastes. Most of all, bash nothing until you’ve actually basked in its badness. 

Rants and rusty sharp device heavy games are welcome below. Are we a glass of blood is half-empty kinda crowd, or has horror truly taken a dip into disappointing hell? Share your thoughts, preferably after downing a bag of sugar-coated happy thoughts.

This Land Is Your Land, This Land Is Zombieland

Anybody notice that sunny glow shining through the Monday blues? Was it a lingering effect from the full harvest moon of Sunday night? The crispy bite of autumn in the air? Or maybe, just maybe, it was the musty smell of crinkled $10 bills and stoic scent of credit card swipes mixed with the buttery aroma of movie theater popcorn.

In case you hadn’t heard, Zombieland premiered and results were good. Not quite Dawn of the Dead ’09 taking a bite out of zombie Jesus in Passion of the Christ good, but $25 million in October is good news for original horror humor, especially following the disappointing opening of the R-Rated Jennifer’s Body. 

Especially because, in case you haven’t heard the movie is pretty damn wonderful. So wonderful and nearly universally approved (89% fresh on Rotten Tomatoes !) that rather than do a traditional Doll’s House style review and risk echoing the herd or revealing spoilers, I figured I’d just throw out a few recommendations for who to see it when you see it again (because you know you will) and how to convince them to do so:

-Your children, because it reinforces the importance of wearing a seatbelt

-Your out-of-touch uncle because he’ll finally understand the difference between Hannah Montana and Miley Cyrus

-Your sister, because the film heavily feature a close and sweet relationship between two feisty sibs

-Your Ultimate Edition DVD set of Dawn of the Dead so that you can fold the box and make it smile at the very subtle (possibly produced by my own hopes) soundtrack homage during Zombieland’s trash-the-wampum store scene

-Your mother, because you love her and want to see her happy

-Your clown-fearing cousin, because it’s time to feel empowered

-Your Showgirls enthusiast aunt because she’s never seen tassel turns until she’s seen them in undead slow motion

-Anyone you know, because everyone else is doing it and people don’t like to feel left out

You get the point. If there was one low point to first time filmmaker/my new hero Ruben Fleischer’s zomcom, it’d be that a gal could always use more zombie kills hinted at so wonderfully in the terrifically macabre opening. And Emma Stone’s hair looks way too shiny in a world where deep conditioning has taken a backseat to other priorities. High points? Woody Harrelson doing what he does best, the use of a Crazy Mouse roller coaster, constructive lessons that read like a live action reenactment of Max Brooks’ The Zombie Survival Guide, and one of the best extended cameos ever to included on camera.

Do yourself a favor and throw a few bucks to a good cause. See Zombieland now before everyone and their great grandfather spills the celebrity guest star and/or starts to rattle off Jessie Eisenberg’s rules as if they’ve just discovered the secret to life, which of course, you as a horror enthusiast have known all along. Whatever your reasons, just have fun.

And of course, be sure to limber up.

Death of a Cheerleader

 
It’s a rare Oscar winner that would follow and Academy awarded screenplay with a blood-soaked horror movie set in high school, but the prom queen of 2008’s Sundance did just that with Jennifer’s Body. Written by Juno scribe Diablo Cody and directed by Girlfight’s Karyn Kasuma, this bouncy pseudo horror has a refreshingly high dose of estrogen behind its production. 


That doesn't make it a particularly good (certainly not well directed) film, but despite the late-nite cable title, retro 80s poster art dying to make messy backseat love to a VHS (above, and I actually really dig it), and the abundance of near-nude Megan Fox skin, it's important to note that Jennifer's Body does try a few new things in marrying snappy high school humor with  a throwback horror style. 

Quick Plot: Despite their differences, mousey Needy (Amanda Seyfried) and hot cadet squad captain Jennifer (Megan Fox) remain lifelong BFFs, as proven by their matching heart necklaces. While Needy would prefer a quiet night in with her pet ferret or sweet boyfriend (you know he’s a catch because he went to Super Target to buy the spiral textured condoms so “it feels good for girls”), she agrees to accompany Jennifer to the local bar to see the hot new band from “the city” (which, from Long Island to the Alaska, is like, so the way suburban kids describe the nearest metropolis). Jennifer flirts her way into the sights of the lead singer (a hilarious Adam Brody) who in turn consults his drummer about the possible sexual history/non-history of the underage goupie-to-be. Offended, Needy dishonestly defends her friend’s honor before a fatal fire destroys the bar and makes extra crispy meat of most of its inhabitants. A shocked Jennifer ends up in the back of the band’s van, only to later show up in Needy’s kitchen with an appetite for Boston Market and an erupting blackened bloody wound in her chest. 

The next day, students and faculty mourn the town’s tragedy while Jennifer acts like a bitchy hot girl who craves the flesh of teenaged boys. And since she is cadet squad captain, she totally gets it. (Side note: once online for a roller coaster at Great Adventure, I overheard this pearly gem from a young blonde on a school trip: "I'm a cheerleader. That means I can do whatever the hell I want." Jennifer's Body comes extremely close to using this exact line).

Like a lot of current horror, Jennifer’s Body seemed to take some fan backlash when its very concept was announced. Diablo Cody’s style is pretty polarizing, and early trailers made the film look like 90 minutes of Fox teasing audiences with near nudity and sapphic innuendo. While the film is no masterpiece or milestone in the horror genre, it is an energetically enjoyable flick ripe for a Sunday afternoon viewing, sort of like a younger Drag Me To Hell with a little more Whedonesque puns tossed in. Amanda Seyfried proves that whether she’s slaying demons or singing to ABBA, she’s an incredibly likable and interesting onscreen presence (even if her “geek” look of flat hair and thick glasses is less believable than Rachael Lee Cook’s makeover in She’s All That). Megan Fox finds the right beats to prove herself more than capable of having fun with the kind of role she was born to play. Cody’s script is far less stylized than the every-line’s-a-pop-culture-quip of Juno, although a few dialogue duds land here and there. Still, the script is generally good fun without being forced.

But is it a good horror movie? Well, not in the scary sense, but that doesn’t mean Jennifer’s Body doesn’t fit its genre. This doesn’t come near the brilliance of something like Scream (which combined self-aware teenagedom with actual suspense in a way that’s hard to rival) but there’s a lot to enjoy, from the complex yet believable relationship between two mismatched best friends to the gleefully macabre humor around the world’s most satanically ambitious indie band since Black Roses. As far as actual fear factor goes, Jennifer’s Body is far more concerned with keeping its audience chuckling than inspiring nightmares, but those chuckles are sometimes quite nasty (and I mean that in the nicest way). It won't give you nightmares, but it will make you smile.

High Points

Neither gets much to do, but it’s still a treat to see Amy Sedaris and J.K. Simmons turning in shining little performances, plus an extra special cameo by one very genre friendly actor in the final scene

The actual sacrifice scene is filled with maniacally black humor 

Both Jennifer and Needy’s choice in promwear is gloriously horrendous. Whether this was an homage to the film’s 80s spirit or a comment on the misguided fashion sense of small town middle America, I like it

Low Points

Despite all the the cheer for the R-Rating, there’s nothing overwhelming or envelope pushing regarding the sex or violence

For all its buildup to the two climaxes, the finale(s) feel underwhelming and rushed. While we can laugh along with Jennifer and are certainly pulling for Seyfried's Needy, director Kasuma does not seem to have any control in building actual cinematic suspense

Lessons Learned

Small towns have bars; cool cities have clubs

Never chide a violent prison inmate for her dietary choices

Murderers of cheerleaders get a lot of fan mail


High school sex smells like Thai food

Bands that aspire to be Maroon 5 are never up to any good

See/Skip/Sneak In

I had a great time watching this movie, and only part of that came from the two 22 ounce glasses of pumpkin beer consumed one hour before showtime. That being said, there is definitely a segment of theatrical audiences--possibly a lot that are male--that will naturally have an aversion to mixing Mean Girls with demonic possession in a manner that tries a little too hard to wear its own cred in a too obvious (and acknowledged) placement of an Evil Dead t-shirt. This isn't the film anyone has been sacrificing puppies to see on the big screen, but it's a fun enough way to spend 90 minutes and a few months from now when it hits DVD, I can actually see some of the laughs landing more effectively. The fact that it seemed to bomb with theatrical audiences is something of a bummer; this isn't a new classic, but it's certainly more deserving of attention than something as trite and uninspired as Friday the 13th Part 12. 


Sigh. It always comes back to that for me, doesn't it.