Oh yes, I can dig it

There aren't really words to express how much I love this movie. I'll just give you some pictures. They're worth a thousand anyway.



Note the lesion from a recent gonosphyphillherpelaids infection spreading on Swan's face. Never make out with mustachioed latinas from a bottom-tier street gang!



The scariest teeth you ever did see. Believe it or not, this is not the gayest gang uniform you will see in the film.



And this dude... This is the original badass. He can bite the head off a baby before you even know what happened. If he took those shades off, it would kill you outright.

The Warriors is constantly in rotation at Insomnia theater. You really have to go see it. I recommend a large bottle of Little Penguin chardonnay for your exploitation experience. Careful in those dark theater aisles though. I ended up pouring about half mine on the floor.

One for my homies.

This is why I do drugs

I missed my golden opportunity. Tell me what's worth living for now?



















Just keep dreaming I guess.

Eclecticism

I can't remember the last time I talked about a film that didn't have at least one decapitation. Lest I be seen as a certifiable gore-snob reveling in the explicit violence rending the moral fabric of our nation I'd like to talk about Clint Eastwood.



That we could all marry women 35 years our junior... Who can blame her though? One year shy of 80 and he can still make a grown man crap himself. He's perhaps the most extreme example of Hollywood's vogue for geriatric action heroes. When he tells the gang youth in Gran Torino he would blow their heads off and sleep soundly afterward there's something in that gravely voice that makes you believe him. He'll do it man. He's crazy.



The man bleeds masculinity. Not to mention he's masterful in the director's chair. His is the kind of filmmaking you don't see anymore, the very best of a bygone era. No MTV generation inspired quick-cutting or Oliver Wood cinematography-as-a-track-and-field-event antics, but he'll make you want to scream at all the right moments just the same.

Do yourself a favor and add his filmography to your netflix queue. I'll recommend (but not buy because I am poor) some Blackjack Pasture to go with your experience. Like Eastwood, it's from Carmel-by-the-sea, California and possesses the soul of a cowboy.

Zombie erotica

A friend of mine recently gave this underrated sub-genre a stab, and it got me thinking. What films could I recommend to spark that perverse imagination of his? It didn't take me long to come up with a short list, which is now provided here for your enrichment.

Let's start by keeping things local: New Haven's very own Love of the Dead. It's sexy. It's funny. It's horrifying. It's everything you could want from the field, and the strongest indie short film offering I've seen come out of CT in years. For those of you who missed the Yale humanities center screening, the entire film is now available online.

Next on the list is something you've no doubt seen coming a mile off. If you haven't seen Dead Alive a.k.a. Braindead then run out and rent it right now. Yes, right now. Why are you still here? Check out that hot zombie on zombie action in the basement. With an ordained priest no less? Scandalous!



I couldn't find an actual picture of the scene since all my blogger brethren are prudes. Prudes!

Moving on, you need to check out the third installment of the Return of the Living Dead series. Yes, I know it sucked. What matters here is that it has arguably the hottest zombie of all time.



Throw in some S&M themes since zombie porn is apparently not dirty enough and you have... I don't know what you have. A touching tale of young love? A harrowing allegory of the modern military-industrial complex and its inevitable evils? A wasted piece of celluloid? Whatever. Melinda Clark who prefers to be called Julie is smoke'n. I love those spikes baby.

Last and certainly not least we have to talk about Re-Animator. Not only do I get to reference Lovecraft, I get to make an obvious pun about head.



It doesn't get much more erotic than that.

It's all in the title

I went to see a matinee of Transformers 2 today, because I'm a whore. It was oddly unsatisfying and not even in that "I enjoyed that but still feel filthy" kind of way. Upon returning home I announced I was ready to shed my debaucherous lifestyle and settle down with a good man from the Korean new wave. I've got my eye on Chan-wook Park, but who am I kidding? It would be good for about three months followed by five painful years of forced smiles and awkward dates culminating in his tears while I scream for a divorce.



That was my unwieldly way of telling you Transformers 2 sucked. Like you didn't already know...

Let's talk about films that don't suck! Way of the Gun by Christopher Mcquarrie is such a film.



There's something about a Mcquarrie script that makes dual-wielding pistols look legitimate. His brother is responsible for the firefight choreography, and it really shines. You haven't seen anything quite like it elsewhere.

As a directorial debut it falters in places, but there's more than enough to keep you going, and glimpses of brilliance do occasionally flit by. I really think this guy has amazing potential (although it would seem he's out of the game now). Mcquarrie spits in the face of hollywood stereotypes and really knows how to show instead of tell. Great performances by the cast (notably Caan and Del Toro) help him in that regard.

If nothing else, watch it to see Sarah Silverman get punched in the face. Booyah! I'd say that goes well with a bottle of kosher cabernet sauvignon.

I just need the pom poms

Sometimes I feel like that slut from high school. You know, the one who was always sleeping with the muscle-bound jocks who treated her like crap?

Take Paul McGuigan's Push as the most recent example. I'm not stupid. I know this movie is going to be a steaming pile of celluloid, but I see a telekinetic gunfight in the trailer and buy the tickets anyway. Next thing I know I'm standing outside the theater trying to straighten my crumpled blouse feeling dirty and used.

The parallel continues for any action movie.



Seriously, just put some jersey's on these guys and it's the 12th grade all over again. I'm so easy all it takes is an explosion on the cover to get me alone in a darkened room. I don't learn my lesson either. Next time some vampire fare walks by and flashes a little Ethan Hawke at me I'll be in that position of degradation again before long.



To be fair, Push isn't that bad, but it's certainly not good. It suffers from lackluster directing, a contrived plot, and typical hollywood disneyland morals. You can't help but see the potential squandered here. If you're a whore like me and plan to watch this movie anyway, I recommend you don't drink, or, if you do drink, I recommend keeping the room free of any sharp objects.

Worthwhile things! Dakota Fanning, in following with Spielberg-chosen-girl tradition, appears to have developed a serious cocaine habit and ceased to age.

On killers

Lieutenant Colonel Dave Grossman's well-argued theories on killing don't apply to the Japanese (because there's something wrong with their brains as I've stated before). Check out Takashi Miike's Ichi The Killer for proof.




You could call this film a less polished precursor to Chan Wook Park's Oldboy directed with the energy of Mark Neveldine/Brian Taylor production. That wouldn't really be doing it justice though. Rent it and see. It goes well with the sake sampler from Miya's on Howe Street (no flavored syrups; the apples are brewed right in!), and a big plate of tempura shrimp. Oh yes. The shrimp are vital.

Is it possible I'll be recommending anything that is not a Japanese splatter film ever again? Yes. Is it likely? I think you know the answer to that.

PS - I'm sad to report a mosquito gave me the west nile, and there won't be any new updates while I relearn how to type with my amputated left hand. It's my hope a vengeance-driven mechanic can construct some kind of eviscerating device to serve me as a prosthetic.

Conan, what is best in life?

Beheading dudes.



I freaking love the American grindhouse cover for this movie. "It's impossible to keep a body count!" I disagree. Still, if you lose count, three year old Daigoro happily provides the score about halfway through.

I'm not going to recommend a wine for this one. Suffice to say if you're the kind of guy that drinks wine while watching Ogami Itto impale ninja with pieces of his infant son's baby carriage, you are a man of impeccable tastes, and whatever spirits you choose to imbibe I will stand behind the decision.

Amputees are sexy

Here's a new talent to put on your radar screens: Noboro Iguchi. He entered the scene in 2003 with Koi-suru yuchu aka A Larva to Love, and has been making titillating exploitation films since that time. I was turned on to him after watching a trailer for The Machine Girl and immediately placing it at the number one spot on my netflix queue.

For a pairing I recommend rice wine. Sake and gratuitous blood-letting go together like garlic and basil I tell you.



This is the kind of B movie a man can really get behind. It's all here; hot women, dismemberment, kungfu. Apparently the the girl playing Miki is even a softcore porn star (which calls to mind possible allusions to guro, social commentary?). Iguchi has spared no detail for your debaucherous pleasures. He even managed to crank out a mini-sequel in 2009.



Yes. I know.

If you're an out and out freak like me, this isn't anything you haven't already seen. I was , much to my roommates delight (or was that horror?), able to accurately predict just what tempura oil would be used for in this movie. I was also able to name and describe the function of the metal-box-on-a-chain device a certain villain wields. Originality aside, Iguchi pulls everything off with tongue planted firmly in cheek and the kind of exuberant flashiness only the Japanese are capable of.

Are you still here? Go watch it already. RoboGeisha is coming out next year.

Indie filmmaking in CT (no, the other Indie)

There's something very wrong with the state of indie filmmaking in CT. Namely, our movies kind of suck. I'm glad no one reads this blog, for I'm about to say some hurtful things, and I feel a kinship with the filmmaking community of our state. Still, our movies kind of suck.



I'll make my case. 17 years ago (that's nearly two freaking decades, two freaking decades during which time the most exciting technology advances in the history of filmmaking have occurred) Robert Rodriguez made El Mariachi for $7,000, the price of a used car. This is the result.



It's a b-movie for sure, but it's pretty good. It also won the audience prize at Sundance. Then, 16 years later, at nearly double the budget, we made this.



I know they had fun making this movie, and no one is happier than me to see their success. Honestly. Still, why do our movies look like they were shot on a second hand camcorder in someone's backyard? Probably because that's exactly how they were made, but let's move away from that.

Rodriguez is one talented bastard, for sure, but he wrote everything down! It's in a book! See? We can read this book and copy him! Our movies should be better and cheaper not worse and more expensive.

Argh, rant finished. I should practice what I preach, yah? Well I'll see you again in December and you can be the judge.

Honorable opponents

This is my primary competition. I think I can take them.



Still, I'd be happier if I could roll like Carpenter with a secret weapon.



Any takers?