Showing posts with label nonsense. Show all posts
Showing posts with label nonsense. Show all posts

Tuesday, March 2, 2010

The Blind Side...of all that's good in the world

I don't know how to say this, so let me just spit it out:

Last Friday, I snuck in to watch what I soon learned was one of the most racist films to earn an Oscar nod (and tragically, most likely Oscar) since Breakfast At Tiffany's. Some may call it 'feel-good' and 'inspirational.' I call it offensive garbage.



Now I can already hear you bloodthirsty genre fans scratching your heads in confusion. "I Googled 'horror!'", you mumble, or, for those 3 viewers that seem to find this one page every month, "I just wanted a good headshot of Marc Blucas looking like an idiot ." 

I understand your pain and will now open a door for you to exit, should you choose. Feel free to return at a latter date, such as Thursday when I hope to post genital ripping praise of Lars von Trier's Antichrist or next week when the Day of the Dead remake gets its chance to thud. Allow me, however, this one pocket of cyberspace to waste on a movie that deserves none of the baffling praise it has somehow earned. 


And for the loyal readers who actually read this way too long synopsis of a way too long and unnecessary film, I threw in a reference to Burial Ground: The Nights of Terror. Don't say I don't love you.

Also of note: throughout this 'review', you may hear some electro jazz music playing in intermittent spurts. Trust me, you'll know (bwamm chicka chicka...I clearly don't know my porn music). This signifies an ideal moment for any director of feature length pornography--professional or amateur, we're all artists here--to take the otherwise uninteresting scene into X-rated territory.


Not a Quick Plot: A kindly janitor named Tony comes to a private Christian school to try to enroll his son, Stephen. In order to do this, he has to talk with the school’s basketball and football coach (Ray McKinnon, who gets to make a lot of Karrrr-azay faces in a bid to nip at Jim Carrey’s ankles) because of course, young black men are athletic and will make fine additions to any team. Turns out, Tony has ANOTHER young, potentially athletic black man under his occasional care (aka, he sometimes sleeps on Tony’s couch) named Big Mike (Quinton Aaron, who gets to...mumble and occasionally walk), and wouldn’t it be great if he could go to school too? 
Yes, that’s a fine idea, and what a nice gesture from a caring man like Tony.
Now to follow in the footsteps of the film, let us never speak of Tony again.
Big Mike walks to school and stands out, according to one source, like a fly in milk because apparently, there are no black people in Christian small towns. No black people except for Big Mike. And Tony and Stephen, but they have served the script’s purpose and seem to have evaporated into the glistening Caucasian air. Since they don’t have any nice white people to adopt them, we’re led to believe they will probably turn to drugs and die early deaths.


In the classroom, Big Mike is kind of a drag. He doesn’t speak. He doesn’t seem to learn. Teachers snidely talk about his lack of ability, and Big Mike spends a few evenings hanging out at a laundromat and making hesitant eyes at the town’s only black woman (bwamm chikka chikka chikka) until one day, while walking nowhere in the rain, he crosses the street in front of the Tuohy family. Father Tuohy, played by Tim McGraw as a man comprised entirely of knowing grins, tells Big Mike he can “go on,” because apparently black people need permission to cross the street in 21st century Tennessee. Leigh Anne (Sandra Bullock in what I believe to be a role she sold her soul to Satan to be considered for an Oscar for) insists Big Mike come home to the Tuohy mansion and spend the night on the couch. (bwamm chikka chikka chikka). 


The next morning, she wakes up and wonders if he stole anything.
He didn’t, of course, because he had been touched by the spirit of Caucasia. Leigh Anne drives Big Mike to his mother’s house on The Other Side of Town where a bunch of thuggish black men call her Snowflake and suggestively wink in her direction. Clearly homeless, Big Mike sheepishly returns and before long, the Tuohys (teen daughter and horrendous man-child son S.J. included) are sharing their Thanksgiving dinner with the monosyllabic new guest and Leigh Anne is buying him rugby shirts, making his futon, and attending parent teacher conferences where she learns that Michael (as he’s now known because nobody on the Streets ever knew he didn’t like being called Big Mike) tested in the 98th percentile for “protective instincts.” 

Now I’m not from the south, but are students really tested on this? Am I crazy, or is this something generally reserved to describe quality guard dogs? Anyway, Big Mike gets some extra help tutoring from kindly teacher Kim Dickens (bwamm chikka chikka) and starts to smile more. Also, he gets pet by S.J.


D’oh! I skipped over the amazingly poignant scene wherein the Tuoys go to a fancy restaurant for dinner, and Michael stays behind to embrace the busboy. When asked about the identity of this rare African American male not selling drugs on The Wrong Side of Town, Michael explains that he is his brother.
And like Tony and Stephen, we never see him again.
Anyway, Michael becomes such a big part of the family, he’s actually allowed to pose with the Tuoys ) for their annual Christmas portrait! Of course, Leigh Anne assures the slack-jawed McGraw that she won’t use the photo on the Christmas card but cut to--get this--the Christmas card, complete with Michael’s smiling mug in the background! You totally didn’t see that coming, did you??? 

Naturally, the questions start coming. Leigh Anne sometimes dines on $18 salads with a few girlfriends who wear really big accessories and colorful scarves, which naturally means they’re the kind of women who don’t approve of a black man sharing house space with Leigh Anne or her 16 year old daughter Collins. One of them even compares the Christmas card to a still from 1976’s King Kong, 


which is a terribly cruel insult to both black people and Jessica Lange. 

The other great thing about this scene is it gives us the opportunity to hear this line: 
“You’re changing that boy’s life.” 
To which we can all mouth in prediction at the same time Leigh Anne’s heartfelt response:
“No. He’s changing mine.” (presumably by teaching her that black people like rugby shirts)
Soon it’s time to legally adopt Michael, a surprisingly easy feat when you’re white and Southern because you can waltz into a state office, cut the line, and charm everyone around you with your own protective pluck and low cut top. Leigh Anne is also saddened by just how easy a process it is to claim a young black man as your own, so she seeks out Michael’s birth mother so that she can direct her pity somewhere else. According to a social worker, this is a woman who’s been described as having “more than a dozen” children and naturally, there’s little Leigh Anne can do to comfort her (bwamm chickka chickka).
Leigh Anne can, however, buy Michael a brand new truck and Michael can, of course, take freckly demon seed S.J. out for a spin and immediately get into a nearly fatal crash because he was distracted singing “Bust A Move” with a nine-year-old rather than watching the road. 

Sadly, S.J. survives unscathed.


Oh well, glad that unpleasantness is behind us, because now it’s FOOTBALL SEASON! Remember, this is the whole reason Michael ever had a shot at The Good Life With White People, so it’s very important that this young man prove himself on the field. Unfortunately, football is haaaaaard. Poor Michael can’t really get a grip on the logistics, but more importantly, the big guy seems positively timid when it comes to tackling other men. Coach Rubber Face can do nothing but cross his eyes and make stupid mouth gestures. Thankfully, Leigh Anne is watching eagle eyed and solves the problem: Michael doesn’t want to hurt anybody, but if he thinks of the football team as his family and the other guys as Oompah Loompahs, he’ll be amazing! 

Remember, this is the same dog--dude, I mean dude, who tested in the 98th percentile for protective instincts.
Cut to the first Big Game, where Michael is a little slow to get moving. Also, everyone in the crowd not now in love with Michael is a blazing racist because the only black people they know--if any--come from The Wrong Side of Town. This also applies to the referee, who flags Michael for no reason other than, we’re all supposed to believe, the color of his skin. Because there are no black people playing football in 21st century Tennessee. Ah well, at least this is enough to make Coach Stupid Rubber Face realize that he loves Michael like a son. Naturally. 
So now Michael is popular ‘n stuff and everyone--including football coaches and college recruiters--want a piece of him. We even get a scene where Leigh Anne watches--in between coaching cheerleading, apparently--as a huddle of white men approach Michael and eye his giant arms as if they’re primed for heavy labor on the cotton fields. 

Again, really wish I was joking.
Since there’s still another 30 minutes let in the film, it’s time for Another Conflict. This time, Michael needs to raise his grades a bit, which is easy enough when Kathy Bates is your tutor (even if she is shhhhh! a Democrat; bwam chickka chicka). Of course, there’s one crusty old white English teacher who isn’t charmed by Michael’s poor writing skills. This is where Smiley McGraw comes in handy to recite The Charge of the Light Brigade to an otherwise possibly illiterate Michael, who then writes an essay that earns him the A he needs. 


No comment on the fact that Michael doesn’t seem to actually read the poem, providing struggling English students with a very poor example of how to earn a scholarship (i.e., have a dad like Tim McGraw).
So you thought we’re ready for the Happy Ending, right? Nooooooo. We need to EARN it! This is a Best Picture nominee, for goodness sake. See, now that Michael is the cat’s plus size pajamas, he can actually choose which university to bestow his greatness upon. Like the rest of the film, there’s no actual thought process for the character to go through. He simply mumbles in agreement after a quick montage where various men in suits wine and dine him and, more importantly, precocious little S.J. who’s far more concerned with what gee whiz bonus he gets in return for Michael’s letter of intent. 
After a lot of casual prodding, Michael decides to attend Ole Miss (which I assume is code for the University of Mississippi, but I’m not southern so I probably don’t deserve to know) but there’s Drama here because this is the alma mater of both Tuoys. Leigh Anne was even a cheerleader there! So in steps the NCAA to investigate whether the Tuoys just adopted this defensive prodigy in the hopes of improving their Division I’s roster. A black woman with a severe haircut and, most likely no happy adolescence with a nice white family is positively mean to the baffled Michael. 
Hurt and shocked at being allowed to display any sign of individuality, Michael storms off and returns to his childhood home where all the poor black people are doing drugs and drinking alcohol. I’d really like to pretend that was an exaggeration. It’s not.
Michael hesitantly parties with his new friends, (bwammm chicka chicka) but gets upset when they make sexual comments about his snowflake of a mother and white sister. I mean, Michael has shown absolutely no interest in the opposite sex the entire film, so naturally the mere thought that someone else would say such words rile his Protective Instinct (98 %, remember). Bad Black Drug Dealer pulls a gun on Michael, but since our hero is working on protective adrenaline, he easily KOs BBDD and three other villainous, non-white tutored thugs and leaves.

This brings us to the arguably Greatest Scene of All Time, and easily the reason Sandra Bullock will walk home with a quickly lessening in value Oscar in a few days. Leigh Anne has had time to think about the past year’s events and has concluded that she might not a good person. To make peace with herself, she drives back to The Wrong Side of Town to confront The Bad Black Guys, most of whom sit menacingly on a porch with their tattoos glistening with nefarious intentions under the hot sun. With her Wonder Bra beaming and southern accent chirping, Leigh Anne convinces the crowd that she’s a proud NRA member holding a gun in her designer purse. 

That’s all they need to let her go. (bwamm chick chicka)
Wow white people rule. They even intimidate black people with their sass!
Michael, meanwhile, is eventually found (not that hard because he’s the only black person on the Not Wrong Side of Town, and horizontal stripes from rugby shirts help to widen his girth even further). Leigh Anne apologizes, Michael decides Ole Miss will be his new home no matter what, and an epilogue leads them to orientation day on campus. A few attractive freshmen pass his glance, to which Leigh Anne then threatens to cut off his penis if he dares impregnate a fellow student. 
“She means it!”  says S.J. with a smile, finally confirming what I suspected from the beginning: that he is indeed a 30 year old man akin to Burial Ground’s Peter Bark, only Leigh Anne castrated him when he did indeed get someone pregnant. It explains so very much.

Real-life footage pops up over the credits as the actual Michael Oher gets drafted by the NFL, daughter Collins gets the surely equal in grandeur honor of becoming a college cheerleader, S.J. gets to walk onto the opening day football field wearing a sweater vest, and the audience around me mumbles how wonderful the last 2 hours of hell were. I consider suicide.
Lessons Learned
Owning 85 Taco Bells is an incredibly lucrative profession
The bigger the accessories, the bigger the racist

You’ll never love clothing nearly as much as you love it in the store
Thugs packing heat are easily intimidated by prayer group presidents

Disclaimer
Please understand, I mean no disrespect to the Tuohy family or Michael Oher. If this indeed their story, then more power to them for being kind and charitable and defeating the odds. They--but more importantly, we--simply deserve better. 

Conclusion
This film received a nomination as Best Picture of the Year. Enough of the Hollywood industry considered this to be just as good, if not better than, Inglourious Basterds. Thus far, it’s made over ten times more money than The Hurt Locker. This, a film in which every line that isn’t shockingly offensive in a did-they-really-say-that way, is anticipated by any audience member with a slight hold on the English language. A film that insists, sometimes outright, that black people suffer in the world every day but every once in a while, a loving white family can change that. A film whose central character has zero weight on anything that happens around him.


An equally long essay could be written comparing The Blind Side to Precious, a film also about an overweight, underloved African American. But see the difference, to sum up quickly, is that Precious cares about its lead. It empowers her. It allows actress Gabourey Sidibe room to create a human being that can be hurt and find her own strength to deal with that, occasionally with help from others but most importantly, from within herself. It’s not a flawless film by any means, but it is a film about characters that actually develop, for better and worse. Quinton Aaron's only direction as an actor is to quietly accept everything white people tell him. 

Although, it should be noted, Michael is often compared to an onion composed of many layers. 

Yes, just like Shrek.
The Blind Side is a McDonald’s--or, more appropriately, Taco Bell--dollar menu item. Seemingly appealing, yet less fulfilling than the gum scraped off a sidewalk. Dangerous to your health and destructive to the minds and bodies of those that consume it. It creates an imaginary fantasy world where people are either amazingly angelic, uneducated and dangerous, or blank slates willing to fall on whichever side seizes them with prettier colors. 
This film makes me embarrassed to be considered white. And alive.

Now let's forget our troubles with a cute photo of an English bulldog puppy.





Sunday, November 29, 2009

Black Sunday



R.I.P. ThanksKilling Season (Yes, I will indeed refer to it as that from now until the day I die.)


And now onto Christmas business...



It may be shopping season, but you can bet your coupon book you won’t find me inside a heavily trafficked, swine flu spreading mall on any upcoming weekend this December. To prevent myself from being stampeded in a more painful manner than Lou Diamond Philips’ horse-trod friend in The First Power, I’m holding my own couch potato shopping spree with a marathon of all the best mall-centric horror. As a bonus for this season of gift giving generosity, I’m including a few suggestions for what to buy your loved one, inspired by these films but thankfully, available through any online retailer.

Dawn of the Dead(s)
It’s so good, there are two version of it...plus two more via the original’s deluxe DVD set, including an extended director’s cut and Dario Argento’s more compact and less humorous European release. Romero’s original hits upon all the hallmarks of a super shopping plaza--dressing rooms, arcades, ice rinks, great deals on hard candy--while also guilting its audience into acknowledging the consumerist culture zombification of the general public. Zack Snyder’s 2004 remake tries to make its characters act deeper than their freeloading ways suggest, but ultimately, the audience is hard-pressed to agree with Ving Rames’ plan to leave the safest, most comfortable and accommodating location one could hope to loiter in during a time of disaster. How could one surrender such a place when it’s scored to the relaxing chords of Richard Cheese?


Gift Idea: If you’re still in the ‘70s or now inhabiting Texas, I’m sure a fully featured shotgun would make any sweetheart sigh with stars in his or her eyes. While many folks have issues with firearms, most would most likely understand you’re only looking out for their safety in the wake of an inevitable zompacalypse. For a less controversial couples holiday present, consider a video camera (for you know, videotaping exercise?), telescope for those late night stargazings dates that best help one forget the very recent death of a parent, crowd pleasing DVD like National Lampoon’s Animal House, or border collie mix for security and affection.


Bio Zombie
You can only watch Dawn of the Dead so many times before you ask yourself: how would this improved by the presence of Bill Espresten Esquire and Ted Theodore Logan? Sadly, it seems doubtful that Keanu Reeves will ever break out his Wyld Stallions denim and would be incredibly depressing if Alex Winter squeezed back into his midriff-baring tee shirt. Thankfully, there’s Bio Zombie, a 1998 Hong Kong zomedy that plants two humorously rude mallrats into a zombie invaded shopping complex. It’s hard not to have a good time with jokes about Titanic, human appendage sushi, and low budget noshing. The only drawback? The film takes place after closing hours, thus limiting the feasting to lingering leftovers and some likable employees.


Gift Idea: A Precious Moments figurine to show your tender side and take your love back to his or her first Communion. 

Chopping Mall
The title says it all. Well, not really, as ‘chopping’ calls to mind axes and not killer robots using lasers to punish shoplifters and scandalous store employees sneaking into a mall for an overnight sleepover. But hey, it’s still gravy when you get to watch bratty teen delinquents picked off one by one by security guards that make Terminators look like Quakers. Now if only the inevitable Paul Blart franchise goes enough entries in to feature a crossover...

Gift Idea: An aromatic stick of pepperoni, a little known aphrodisiac for the Saturday sale-grubbing crowd

Elves
I previously mentioned this film when discussing misleading titles, as we never see more than one of the titular monster in this 1989 horror dud. Still, tis the season for an Xmas themed mall massacre, and to my knowledge, Elves marks the first and somehow only meeting of two hallmarks of the holdiay season: Grizzly Adams and Nazis. What, you didn’t know Josef Mengele was working on creating a superrace of angry little people for world domination? Did you even pass junior high history? Sadly we’re not here to discuss Hitler’s relationship with vertically challenged henchmen (yes, that was added just so I can throw a reference out to Hard Rock Zombies) so Elves makes this shopping list due to its partial setting inside a giant department store. Like Chopping Mall, the promiscuous leads sneak in after hours to seduce some teenage boys and battle a fairly ridiculous monster. This one just happens to be a very pink, very short German.


Gift Idea: Sportswear. Yes, the girls model some frilly teddies made of more lace than a casserole doily, but it’s the blue bathing suit on the blond that the ladies and gentlemen deem sleepover worthy. Plus, it’s much easier to maneuver a killer elf when you don’t have to worry about frilly fabric getting stuck in automatic doors. Just because an outfit is intended for intimate occasions does not mean one should ignore its practicality in the event of Nazi sorcery sponsored slaughter.

Eight Legged Freaks
Holing yourself up inside an armored supercenter is certainly one way to evade an arach attack. The downside? Once locked in, there are only so many tools that prove successful at combating gigantic toxic waste infused spiders before they suck out your innards in a colorfully PG-13-esque manner.


Gift Idea: An easy to carry, strongly scented bottle of reasonably priced perfume or cologne. True, your lady or male friend/teacher/relation may not be thrilled with the smell, but any old brand will show you care...especially when said gift receiver finds him or herself standing face-to-fuzzy-face with Shelob’s descendent who, conveniently enough, is quite sensitive to flowery sprits. 

The Final Destination
It was only a matter of time before this perfectly toned dead teenager franchise took to the malls. Between automatic gates and ink blot security tags, it’s a wonder this fourth installment wasn’t set entirely inside an indoor shopping center. Instead, we get treated to seeing what would actually happen if your loose shoelaces get stuck at the top of your average escalator. The results, as you might expect, are fabulously not fun (for the characters; those of us watching are having a great time).


Gift Idea: Comfy velcro-based sneakers. Anything else is the equivalent of coating your loved one in honey, sugar, and blood, then tying them to the coastal point where sea meets land and the Grim Reaper’s esteemed collection of killer bees, ants, and sharks come to feed. 

Am I forgetting a few more reasons to invest in a PayPal account? Share below and remember your parking space.

Sunday, August 23, 2009

I'm Baaaaaaaack

We made it! We conquered Dollywood and survived a round of Kentucky bourbon, West Virginian spaghetti bread, and Tennesseean karaoke. Most importantly, we weren't killed by anything from the following two establishments clearly built and filled to terrify outsiders with nightmarish possibilities of what can be done with a bowl of wax or little girl's toy chest.


I'll get back to my normal review schedule in a few days, as my horror film watching was put on hold to experience some true life terrors and fried green tomatoes. Until then, I included a few images from my road trip to demonstrate some of the wackiness buried inside this beautiful lil country I call home.


Some samples from the Lexington Virginia Wax Museum:





























And possibly more frightening, inside the Lexington Toy Museum:
















Not kid friendly at all. We'll close with an image that needs no words, but produced one of the greatest speeches in American history:





Yes, a little known fact of the 19th century is that a vegetarian velociraptor helped old Abe get through a few first drafts of the Gettysburg Address. I can't imagine why this tidbit never made it into the textbooks.

Wednesday, July 22, 2009

Help Me Shop

As I struggle to find that free 90-120 minutes to watch what hopefully will yield deep writable impressions on my twisted little mind, I didn't want to go too long a stretch with no content. Hence, today's most selfish post where I solicit free advice regarding which poster for The Wicker Man I should throw my bid into ebay for. If it helps, the current decorating scheme of my very adult and mature apartment includes artwork for Night of the Living Dead, The Ewoks 2: Battle For Endor, Battle Royale, and a three-in-one of Carrie, Burnt Offerings, and Aubrey Rose.





or




Your choice and explanation are highly valued and will be rewarded with happy thoughts from my cats.

Meanwhile, I've succumbed to the evil addictive force that is Flickchart. Total Recall vs. Rushmore? Halloween vs. Ed Wood? It's like masochist porn for film lovers, only neverending and free. You can friend me over there where I'm listed as deadlydolls.

And don't judge me on those rankings just yet. Million Dollar Baby at no. 3? Only when it continuously has to battle weaklings like My Best Friend's Wedding and the headache-inducing Who Framed Roger Rabbit?.

I'm hoping to get back to some good old fashioned reviewing in another few days, so until then, return your Netflix DVDs in a reasonable time period, don't litter, and visit your local library.

Consider my community service done.

Tuesday, June 16, 2009

Kids Today and Their Darn Dead Cheerleaders



For the last six months or so, I’ve been living a happy existence free of talking baby ads and Law & Order reruns. LIfe without cable has its downsides--live baseball and awards ceremonies chief among them--but I had successfully convinced myself that Hulu, Netflix, and the good old fashioned salt-of-the-earth books are worth well over a $60 cable bill plus hidden fees and the evil trolls that bicker on the morning news.


That all changed two weeks ago when, unable to hack into insecure wireless networks in my new apartment, the fine people of Cablevision made me a non-contracted offer I couldn’t refuse. Well, thought I, I’ll keep it for baseball season and do my damnest to avoid watching stupidly written sitcoms, whinily acted melodramas, and madmen-inspiring Signals currently and potentially poisoning the digital airwaves.


Fourteen days after C-Day, I stand before you with a review of a TV movie-of-the-week about a dead cheerleader and starring the former princess of TV movies-if-the-week, Kellie Martin called Death of a Cheerleader. Thank you Lifetime.


Quick Plot: High school sophomore Angela (Martin) is dowdily cute and brainy. While this will eventually land her a sweet little NBC contract and an ill-fated screen romance with Noah Wylie, being a good writer and nice girl doesn’t quite cut it at the age of 16--particularly when your principal (Terry O’Quinn, John Locke and The Stepfather himself!) preaches intense competitiveness and a stop-at-nothing attitude to BE THE BEST!




Since this is high school in the mid 90s, “the best” means nothing less than cheerleader, yearbook editor (what?), and Lark (a sort of minor league sorority). Standing in her way is none other than the, according to O’Quinn’s creepily inappropriate authority figure, “the prettiest girl in school,” Stacie Lockwood. Deep into virgin-era Donna Martin, Tori Spelling milks all the hairspray she can out of the snotty and blond Queen Bee. And then, if you didn’t guess, she dies.




See, Angela REALLY wants Stacie to be her friend. After an ill-fated invitation to crash an “older crowd” party, Stacie implies that Angela--already stressed from not making the squad OR the yearbook staff--is no better than the angry goth girl that storms the hallways with a constant scowl. Naturally, a bloodless and awkwardly slo-mo’d stabbing has to occur. How else can Angela get Stacie’s boyfriend and treasurer position with the Larks?




Why am I still talking about this movie? I. Don’t. Know. Maybe it’s because I felt that I needed to stay current. Maybe I wanted to try something different. Or maybe, just maybe, I was too lazy to channel surf or find a DVD but motivated enough to write a review.


High Points
Despite being pretty typical of the TV movie style I can’t really fault any of the performances. Martin is embarrassingly on target as the disturbingly needy Angela and as the lone sympathetic popular girls, a young Marley Shelton stands out.




A Blossum hat is worn with typically awkward sass


Low Points
Just because it’s about teenagers does not mean a film requires a babysitting montage


Lessons Learned
To be a cheerleader in 1994, all you really needed was enough memory to nail four simple arm/leg movements. It makes Marsha Brady look like vintage Paula Abdul




Never impress teenage girls with shoulder length hair and Novas


The girl that constantly shouts “I”m gonna kill you, bitch!” is usually not the girl that killed the bitch


Rent/Bury/Buy
There is absolutely no reason the world we currently live in to watch this movie. Okay, maybe if you have a teenage daughter whose newfound obsession with being a cheerleader is getting a little unnerving, or if your cheerleading daughter has a friend that seems to be harboring an unnerving obsession, or if you just really dig Lifetime movies.


Friends, followers, readers, and robots: I promise this week or weekend to put an actual horror film--not one merely about the hell of high school--on the site. Currently on loan from Netflix is Rumplestilskin, which can’t NOT be good, and Burnt Offerings, whose Bette Davis/Karen Black/Oliver Reed/Burgess Meredith cast makes me happier than Donna Martin graduating.