Different Places

Let's get one thing straight: Vampire In Vegas is not the same movie as Vegas Vampires, though both are about vampires that are in Vegas (or Vegas vampires, you might even say). 

Vampire In Vegas, which I watched on Peacock, has a 2.8 out of 10 rating on IMDB. Having watched Vampire In Vegas and put together this far too long writeup below, I can pretty safely say that 2.8 is a fair score. 

So...how bad can the even LOWER rated Vegas Vampires possibly be? 

And what does it say about me that my new top goal of the summer is to watch it because I NEED TO KNOW.

But that's a story for another day.

Quick Plot (of Vampire In Vegas, not Vegas Vampires): We open with what feels like a 20 minute narrative monologue by Tony Todd. I get it: you've probably (hopefully) spent most of your budget on locking down one of the genre's best voices, so why not lean in on your greatest strength?

Well, maybe because you still need compelling writing when it goes on...and on...and on.

Eventually, we get action in the form of B-roll footage for a tourism commercial selling the perks of Las Vegas. It's one of the more visually aggressive credits sequences I've survived. What starts as panning over popular landmarks quickly turns into unreasonable zoom-in and zoom-outs on the same landmarks. It's upsetting. It kind of hurts. But then there's a brief shot of a cat, and what do you know? I'm suddenly back on board.

No wonder why this is .4 points higher than Vegas Vampires, which, I have to assume, does not include a cat, much less a shot of Tony Todd holding said cat.

And now, a quick rundown of our players (of which there are way, way too many):

- Tony Todd as a vampire who as noted above, in one scene, holds a cat

- The cat. The cat only has one scene. No wonder why this couldn't crack a 3

- A lady scientist charged with developing a sun-blocking serum for Tony Todd vampire 

- The lady scientist's cleavage

- A pair of campers who witness a lot of self-combustion as lady doctor tests out serums in the Vegas desert. If you're thinking, "what are their names and should we invest any energy in learning more?", I'm here to tell you, "No."

- A male detective whose thing is bowties

- A lady detective whose wardrobe, I warn you, may lead me into a 1000+word essay on why men should not..just, should not

- The lady detective's cleavage

- Renfield! In this case, Tony Todd's campaign manager because what more could a 300 year old vampire want but the US presidency?

- An engaged couple who rudely have their morning sex run late as the groom's friends wait outside to drive him to their camping trip

- His terrible aughts bro friends who are actually going to take him to Vegas for a full bachelor party hell

- A lady vampire 

- The lady vampire's cleavage

- The lady vampire's torso

- A vampire doorman 

This is a LOT of characters for a very, very bad film. There's also such a messy story at play that I beg your forgiveness with my very confused summary. I won't even try to call out a single character's name. I'm already doing a lot of work here, and considering this movie's opening credits assaulted me, I feel like I owe it very little. 

At some point, our characters end up in one place: a vampire night club.

It's a strip joint where no one actually takes off their clothes, possibly because the budget couldn't afford it. One stripper dressed as a naughty schoolgirl gives a speedy lapdance, rushes through her lines in the style of the Micromachine Man, grabs a pencil and notebook out of her skirt to land a punchline and hurls it off to the side so quickly that I'm convinced this woman was charging the production by the minute. 

I haven't even gotten to the homemade CGI or incredibly confusing rules about vampirism that this movie seems to change every time a new character shows up. At one point, our hero (it takes a really long time to figure out we have one) drinks a vial of Tony Todd's blood, sprouts vampire bat wings, and can teleport across town...in broad daylight. Is that a thing? 

Vegas Vampires is directed by Jim Wynorski, a legend of low budget cinema who made everything from the underrated Chopping Mall to CobraGator and dozens--seriously, dozens--of movies with some variation of "breast" in the title. A sampling:

Despite helming something called The Hills Have Thighs, I think, and this is purely conjecture, that this man likes boobs. Not that you actually SEE any naked boobs in Vampire In Vegas. Just cleavage. Cleavage pushed up higher than the high heels that our lady detective wears on the job...while hiking through the desert to investigate a homicide. 

This is a movie universe where a powerful vampire who survived three centuries is ultimately bested by a skinny dude with a tree branch. I shouldn't expect much. At least I get the exact closing line I hoped for when I saw the title:

High Points

We will never have another Tony Todd, and while I'm a little sad to think of him bringing his classically trained skills to this mess, it's never a bad thing to see him onscreen

Low Points

Picking the worst thing about a very bad movie isn't easy, but you know what? You've got legendary Tony Todd and you dress him in a Kmart Dracula Halloween costume? That's cruel

Lessons Learned

One does not smoke LSD

O-negative blood is very rare, and that's why city blood bank facilities keep their limited selection stored at unregulated room temperature in shoddy ziplock bags

Doorman 101 curriculum does not overlap with Vampire Doorman 101 Curriculum

Careful where you lean in a laboratory. Some are equipped with exposed high voltage indoor fences

Rent/Bury/Buy

As you might guess by the dissertation I've now written on Vampire In Vegas, I found far more to this movie than I ever expected. Folks: it's reallllllly bad. Bad in that way that demands a LOT of introspection. 

What am I doing with my life?

We're All His Victims

In some areas of my life, I’m something of a completist. No, I haven’t made it any priority to make sure I’ve seen the 73 sequels to Children of the Corn, but with only three Candyman films, it always left a minor itch that I’d never seen the third, least respected Day of the Dead. 

So. This is that.

Quick Plot: Caroline is a young LA-based artist who can’t seem to stop painting the man haunting her dreams. Yes, said tall dark handsome stranger is none other than Candyman, still embodied by Tony Todd in full, sexy whispering glory.

Why this young blond, you might ask? Caroline, you see, is the daughter of the late Annie Tarrant, whom you might remember as the main young blond in Candyman: Farewell to the Flesh. Kids grew up fast in the ‘90s, meaning it took just four years between films for Caroline to go from fetus to new adult prey to her great great great grandfather.

Candyman finds his way into Caroline’s reality through the usual path, one tread nearly identically two films prior. In this case, her manager, Miguel, convinces Caroline to call Candyman’s name in a mirror at her big gallery opening. 

It goes as well as expected: everyone close to Caroline (including her black female friend, because why change a formula with any self-awareness:?) is brutally hacked up by an 18th century rusted hook, with all circumstantial evidence pointing towards our very white lead. It doesn’t help that the lead detective on the case is a racist jerk eager to take some vengeance on the hot blond who’s spurned his advances for a Hispanic man. 

I don’t know if anything I’ve said so far has given anyone reason to see Candyman: Day of the Dead, and if it has, I apologize. While the Bill Condon helmed first sequel has some high points (namely its usage of New Orleans), Turi Meyer’s third go ‘round lacks just about anything worthwhile. Todd’s screen time probably adds up to less than ten minutes, and much like the previous installment, is essentially reduced to him begging a bland white woman to be his victim. 

It…hasn’t aged well.

Yes, it’s easy to criticize most horror franchises for being slavish to their formulas. But Jason slaying good-looking teenagers and Freddy creating surreal nightmare landscapes for his final girl’s pals work for specific reasons. Three films in, and every Candyman leans on the same exact conflict: Blond woman summons Candyman, who kills those around her, makes her a suspect, begs her to join him, and she refuses. That’s it. 

Couldn’t, I don’t know, this NOT be another tale of a blond woman? Or, I realize this SLIGHTLY varies the framework and couldn’t POSSIBLY be put into action, but what if, I don’t know, blond woman actually says, “You know what? Why not? Let’s DO this.”

Sure, I suppose we do get to finally meet that “congregation” that Candyman has long been teasing, but considering this is 1999, the sight of them being choker-clad goths doesn’t give us much. Straight-to-video horror sequels of the '90s rarely brought much to the genre, but Candyman: Day of the Dead seems to not even try. Yes, that's true of every Children of the Corn save for part 3, but knowing just how good the first film is and how much potential the character has, it's hard not to feel truly let down.

High Points

I suppose there’s something new in the film’s resolution, which turns the tables on the public face of its villain in a way that offers some redemption to the otherwise icky racist tone it toys with

Low Points

Seriously, Candyman, you’re a badass horror villain played by a great actor: set your sights higher

Lessons Learned

Bangs were the big trend of the mid-1800s

Racist cops use daily racial harassment to hide just how much they like someone

I would never judge anyone’s sex life, save for this case: if you incorporate dripping honeycomb into your bedroom activities, you just might deserve to die via CGI bee swarm

Rent/Bury/Buy

Bleh. The law of diminishing returns has never been quite so harsh as with the Candyman series. If your nagging curiosity still lingers, you can find this one on Amazon Prime. 

Only An Anthology Could Make Me Rap

Anthology horror films are my Target brand trail mix. I'll always buy it, but only parts inside will work. You know what to expect--saltiness, twist endings, karma, too many pretzels--but occasionally get nice surprises that are briefly extremely exciting--chocolate covered espresso beans, killer African tribal dolls, corn nuts, Richard Moll. While neither is ever The Greatest Creation Mankind Can Make, both are a tad more exciting than their rivals. I'd rather eat a mixed bag of Cajun peanuts and pumpkin seeds than a mere box of crackers in the same way I'm happier watching Creepshow 2 than I would be with The Prowler. 

It’s how I roll.

Hence, when my blogging brother Cortez the Killer of Planet of Terror gave me the heads up that Nite (sic) Tales, a two-part horrorshow hosted by Flavor Flav, was streaming, you could bet my own personal VH1 dating show that I'll give it a go.

Quick Plot: Flavor Flav says something about something, some of which may or may not rhyme. 

His enunciation is poor and I didn't really catch much, save for him welcoming me to "the new movie, Nite Tales." 

I like when I'm welcomed to movies, although generally that happens when an usher rips my ticket or an animated box of popcorn dances before telling me to turn off my cell phone. But who am I to judge? I worked at a concession stand for 4 months and never came up with the right quip for when I said "Enjoy your movie" and the customers said "You too...oh wait! YOU'RE not going to the movie" so ultimately, I am on par with Flavor Flav.

Story 1 is called Karma, because like 90% of anthology tales, it involves comeuppance. We meet a quartet of bank robbers with twitchy trigger fingers who find themselves at a Texas Chainsaw-like farmhouse inhabited by the other kinds of hoodies (satan worshippers--I think--not Klansmen). There's a lot of shouting in urban style, followed by shouting in white Southern style. Unlike most shorts, the tale doesn't have a twist per say, although it's sufficiently told in an underwhelming, but competent manner.

The second tale, on the other hand, is not. "Storm" follows a group of teenagers partying at home during the titular bad weather, playing around with pot and Bloody Mary (the ghost, not the drink). Just as the power goes out, Tony Todd shows up dressed like a grumpy clown, a one-earring wearing police offer swings by to put everyone off-ease, and some of the prettier stars get sliced up. 

Now all this sounds fine, especially for a quick 45 minute segment. Except Storm has no concept on how to pace itself and just...keeps...going. As I've said before and will inevitably say again, the biggest crime an anthology film can commit is the act of dragging. The whole POINT of a multi-segmented film is that you take a story that doesn’t warrant ninety minutes and pound us with a complete arc in less than forty. 

Perhaps the problem is that Storm tries to be too ambitious, using not one but two urban legends as its basis. There's the early establishment of Bloody Mary, but ten minutes later, we may have well forgotten that name was ever uttered as the mystery of a loose serial killer (is it the clown? the cop? the kid that keeps talking about pot?) takes center stage. Then falls off the stage. But gets back up. Or something.

It's frustrating, mostly because it means it's not fun. Tony Todd is never not great to watch, and he does what he can to keep our interest, while the young cast flops around in ill-defined roles that we never care about in the least. I don't know what director Deon (Chain Letter) Taylor was going for, and while there is potential in the story's complications, it's just too messily done in its brief running time.

High Points

There's some fun humor to be had in Nite Tales, most of which does not actually come from Flavor Flav's mugging. Coulrophobes should snicker at the way the characters in the second story react to Todd's circus reject "DUDE! You let a CLOWN in my house?"

Low Points

In addition to the already discussed pacing, can we address the fact that Nite Tales (note that I'm already being forgiving of its stupidly spelled title) breaks the SECOND rule of anthologies, i.e., Thou Shalt Always Include a Killer Doll Segment

Lessons Learned

If you love deals, your favorite show is Deal or No Deal

Avoid trusting police officers with questionable diamond earrings

Everything scares Clay Aiken

Working in a bank will blacken your blood, literally

Cuss Police

This is the first time I've ever seen this happen on Netflix Instant Watch: all the curses in Nite Tales are muted out. No, there's no VH1 Showgirls hilarity with dubbed alternates. Just silence whenever a character curses. Huh?

Michael J. Pagan Alert!

He is to the Doll's House what Cameron Mitchell is to a Mill Creek pack. In 2011, I've reviewed a total of four films (and counting) starring this young actor, including one that he co-wrote. Yes, it was Chain Letter (the others being House of Fears and See No Evil) and yes, I'm convinced that we're destined to either marry or destroy one another. 

Rent/Bury/Buy

This is the second film I've reviewed by Code Black Entertainment (the first being April Fools) and while it's certainly an improvement, Nite Tales is still sorely lacking. The first story is passable, if a tad predictable, while the second is built on a strong idea but executed with the sluggish confusion of a dyslexic slug. Anthology fetishists may still enjoy the film and it certainly offers something mildly different in that regard, especially in following black thugs in Karma. I guess it's a must for Flavor Flav fans, although I also hope those don't actually exist so I suppose that means it's not a must for anyone in particular. If that makes sense, like a sixpence, but yo yo friend, I don't know what that mends, cause that's how I rhyme, I just say things that kind of sound fine, so go behave, I'm Flavor Flav.

I think I just rewrote the opening to this film.

Hey, Have You Heard About This New Internet Thing? The Makers of this movie kind of have...

Actors appearing in this movie have also starred in such films as:

...and a whole lot of daytime television

Surely this will be a watchable 90 minutes of my life, you say.

Oh dear readers. See what happens when you call me Shirley? 

Quick Plot: We start with an affair gone mysteriously wrong when a man’s lovemaking to a faceless blond is interrupted by his wife and, off camera, a gunshot. Cut to 10 months later when now faced blond Sandra (Terri Colombino, a sort of first draft version of Kristen Bell) is moving into a new apartment headed by a cheerfully nosy landlady named Christine.

Cheerfully nosy landladies are great for exposition, see, because they allow our protagonist to explain all the makings of the Internet or, as Sandra and several other characters like to say, their very own Cyber World*. Through Sandra’s own FaceSpace page (yes...FaceSpace), we meet an online chat room community who gather weekly to play some never quite laid out trivia game in order to win movie memorabilia. Among the members are:

• Sandra, who goes by the oh-so-annoying moniker SassyPlanner 

• William Forsythe as an inexplicable chick magnet literary professor

Sexxxxxxxy

• Body Snatchers (and ice skating girlfriend of Brandon Walsh in Season 1 of 90210) as a scarred ex-model (I think) with lawyer troubles (primarily because her lawyer is played by a possibly sedated Billy Dee Williams)

• a bitter young lesbian mourning the death of her lover by spilling her guts out to a very weary Charles Durning as a tea-drinking therapist

•  Mark (played by the original Angel in Broadway’s Rent) a flamboyant special effects artist with a cat that bares a chilling resemblance to my own

• and a single mom sex phone operator

Also, a pair of mismatched FBI agents (including a barely audible Tony Todd) are investigating something or other which eventually leads them to suspect perky Sandra of masterminding a complex murder ring of sorts. This gets extra complicated (wait...the entire movie is already harder to understand than calculus) when Sandra falls for her generally rude neighbor Joe, whose sister conveniently enough is the busty agent heading the investigation. 

Perhaps the not-quite-explained connecting threads of all the characters is some sort of statement on the 6 Degrees of Separation quality that pervades cyberspace. Or perhaps the writers simply decided plotting would be easier if everybody had something in common, whether such a choice made any sense or not. Either way, iMurders contains far too many characters, far too many storylines, and far too few moments of any tension. A twist ending is mildly amusing enough (even if I did call it), but that doesn’t really add much merit when the film had taken us out of the main mystery with an extended subplot regarding Forsythe’s infidelity and career woes.

Oh! And did I mention the 3 minute scene wherein a janitor kind of hits on a young blond, who kind of rebukes him to discuss knowledge, which he kind of seems into? 

Trust me, I just made more sense than the entire film itself.

High Points

The ambitions of the mystery, which include about three major red herrings, are admirable enough...

Low Points

...though it’s a shame that a) they don’t all add up and b) none are actually interesting

Lessons Learned

The FBI has a very loose dress code that encourages cleavage display. This is especially convenient when you’re about 2 feet taller than your well-endowed partner

It’s hard to put the milk back in the carton when you’ve already had the cereal. And that makes some sort of statement on having an affair, I think

When attending an esteemed dinner of academics, the best possible accessory you can carry with your tux is a manilla envelope that contains blackmailing material

One should avoid smiling so cheerfully when giving a news report about a single mother found brutally murdered

The Winning Line

Cinemax Lesbian #1: “I love you.” 

Cinemax Lesbian #2: “I know”

Does quoting The Empire Strikes Back make iMurders awful, amazing, or smart enough to round up a second form of linkage on imdb?

Rent/Bury/Buy

Thankfully, iMurders is on Netflix’s Instant Watch which allows for a guilt-free viewing by only the truly self-hating film fans out there. This is not a good movie. To some extent, it has a so-weirdly-awful-that-you-might-be-tempted-to-try-it kind of vibe, but I discourage most of you out there to waste too much time attempting to untie the knots of logic put forth by the writing in this movie. In the end, you’ll probably have more fun logging onto your own FaceSpace page to play Boggle or snarkily enjoy the fact that your old enemy from high school is now fat. Weigh your priorities with care.

*As you might guess, I spend a fair amount of time online and am happily engaged in supportive and rewarding Internet communities. Of the many other users I know, I’ve never heard a single one refer to such a place as Cyber World. Am I missing out on hip new lingo, or is this one more example of how writers Robbie Bryan and Ken Del Vecchio have never actually logged on?