The Loved Ones

What kind of deranged bitch asks a guy to the prom? Apparently, the kind that likes to take her would-be boyfriends prisoner and keep girly scrapbooks of her man murdering escapades. The Loved Ones is an Australian film that features this kind of torture lusting she-bitch (named Lola) from down under. The unfortunate victim of this teen-girl psycho is a young man named Brent who finds it hard to cope after inadvertently killing his father in a head-on car collision with a tree. Of course, car accidents have unfortunate consequences but one never expects near death because they turned down a weird girl down for Prom. As you find out early in The Loved Ones, Brent has a loving girlfriend who has no problem letting him know he’s appreciated by spreading her tender thighs, so there was no need for him to be so desperate as to flirt with freak girl. 

The Loved Ones is certainly a film that borrows elements from earlier horror films, most notably The Texas Chainsaw Massacre and The People Under The Stairs. In fact, most of The Loved Ones plays out in a similar way to the family dinner torture sequence near the conclusion of The Texas Chainsaw Massacre. Only in this film, instead of featuring a family of inbred Texas degenerates having a jolly good ol' thyme playing torture, The Loved Ones presents an odd Father and daughter duo who like to play murderously with teenage boys. Lunatic Lola must have one hell of a sex drive and a lot of pent up libidinal frustration for her to decide kidnapping and torturing the opposite sex is a proper way to achieve sexual release. Lola’s sexual perversion is most likely heavily influenced by her weasel-like Father who seems to have extremely intimate feelings for his aggressive debutante daughter. If there is any message of intrinsic value to The Loved Ones, it is that weak Fathers produce deranged and hostile daughters. 

Daddy's Girl

I must admit that I found crazy Lola to be extremely attractive and find it unfortunate that Brent did not agree to go to the prom with her. Had Brent gone to the prom with Lola and broken open her meat curtain afterward, maybe he wouldn’t have had to endure a nightlong torture session. After all, if Lola needed anything, it was to be submissive at the hands of one of her imagined Gentlemen callers. Even after getting hit by a car, Lola still finds enough gall to crawl with a knife (her phallus of choice) to stab the man that stood her up. Despite being the villain of the film, Lola is certainly the most interesting and complex character featured in The Loved Ones. Of course, being a sensational horror film, we are barely introduced to the character of Lola and what makes her tick. On the other hand, the ambiguity of Lola’s character also gives the film a certain power that may have been lost had the director of the film decided to reveal more about the teenage angel of death. 

Female serial killers are a rare breed and I would like to seem more featuring them like The Loved Ones. After all, the world needs more films featuring the deepest and darkest fantasies of your typical post-female Feminist. The Loved Ones certainly borrows conventions and characteristics of earlier horror films but executes these traits in a new way, resulting in a film that is sadistically entertaining from beginning to end. Maybe there is re-animated hope for the mostly sterile horror genre as recent shockfests like The Loved Ones and Deadgirl have given me some optimism. 

-Ty E

White Rose Campus: Then Everybody Gets Raped

Beauty has certainly proven to be more curse than gift. From crashing conflict to physical desecration, attraction handles disasters like a magnet, flooding with shit until you're immobilized. This hex of social-accepted beauty and the veins leading to such lands a bus full of giddy high school ladies prepping to be hijacked by three crazed rapists. But the pipe dream of eternal pussy isn't clear of ulterior motives as there is a conflict of physical interest amok. In short, to be beautiful never seems to be worth it other than possessive desires. Clocking in at only 66 minutes is this 80s pink film coming from the reigning Nikkatsu corporation. To be honest, this was a hard sell at first. I tried enjoying the tearing of shirts and the rough foreplay but White Rose Campus just wasn't quite doing anything for me or the genre. I gradually grew tired of the lard whose fetish is apparently menstruation. His crowning of comedic vessel seemed all too abrupt, this molestation slapstick had wore thin once it started and it seemed to be a hopeless situation, enjoying the film.

Utilizing the optical blurring, Then Everybody Gets Raped is one of the few pinku eiga films that I can recall the blurring. It's been common to degrade and violate but rare seems full penetration. Then again, I've been out of the Roman porno phase for several months now, returning on a whim and promise of an exploitive journey of over-the-top sodomy. While the women were selected for future endeavors, the lard makes the effort to halt the bus and forcibly remove any girls deemed "ugly", many of which were among the prettier of the ladyfolk. This twist of conventional rape thrusts a setting other than the bus unto us and provides quite a great deal of relief. It's not claustrophobia, it's just derivative. Once a pair of fashionable truck drivers collect the stranded girls, they're then told news of the hijacking and offer to kick their ass. Thus begins the chase between the uglies and the pretties. An added subplot involves the spoiling of the teacher whom turned down the romantic offer of her boyfriend to elope. Look where her selfishness got her, not that she or it matters though. All these characters, correction, women, have a mindset built for rape. It's not a defensive instinct but more of an offensive.

The problem I suffered with Then Everybody Gets Raped is my expectations of this particular genre got caught in a cycle which forced me to expect the poetic textures of Hasebe or Wakamatsu. These two artists molded the rapescape for me, turned violence into beauty and altered not only my cinematic tastes, but the way I handle sensuality and the successful relationship I am currently in. Early in the film, I was convinced that Then Everybody Gets Raped was one of the worst offenders of violent pinku that I had seen in recent memory. As the film played out, what was once juvenile became genuine and what was three males vying to get off became a plot of depth, no matter how utilized the device has been in past. I didn't anticipate cinematic prose but as the film blossomed, I noticed that while it isn't artistic, it is groundbreaking in the sense of masculine injustice. For an added bonus, the final rape of Yoko unearths the deep psychology of sex and spites the possibility of an instinctual affair existing after all. As a completed package, Then Everybody Gets Raped toggles from inane to brilliant. Such authoritative power lies in the attitudes and reactions of the women, who start their journey with fear and end it with lust. The concluding twist of the truck drivers seals this pinku eiga film and its perilous adventure as an undoubted classic of the genre. There's no last house on any street, Nikkatsu brings the sodomy in a loaded bus.

-mAQ

Baxter

  

Baxter is a late 80s French film exploring the first person narrative life of a bull terrier whose boredom has unleashed murderous conclusions, or so the DVD release states. Interesting enough, the French answer to such flyweight "pussy shit" as The Adventures of Milo & Otis is labeled a dark comedy, a genre I feel does not support the going-ons within the leashed Baxter. Displayed in 3 acts, relishing both the modern play and stages of life, Baxter experiences certain childhood with his elderly recluse, Mrs. Deville. After being shut in for quite some time and much pestering, Baxter begins to have brief, vivid flashbacks to a time before. These unnatural thoughts seem to provoke some aggression and cunning to this sweet bull terrier's coat. In typical French black comedy convention, see also: Bernie (1996), lengths of extremism are constantly touched in brief and gripping fashion. In particular, the scene in which Baxter causes an infant to nearly drown as his jealously tipped to the boiling point. It's no wonder John Waters' short-lived television show surrounding the basis of cinematic corruption featured Baxter on only the fourth episode. 

Switching to the second act, Baxter could have only made the transfer to the neighboring house by staging a terrible accident. The long existential windings of Baxter pad the scenes of conscious desire. This alone creates the illusion that Baxter is a humanized canine. Certainly a film not meant for dog owners, I even find my self staring at my own and questioning the dog's intent, wondering if my next step will be my last. Successfully appealing to and aiding the Tales from the Darkside: The Movie short, Cat from Hell, Baxter is a new breed of creature film - injecting pathos and wisdom into an able-bodied companion, or what one would hope. While this film certainly brandishes elements of comedy, it consistently heeds horror of the rawest nature. Baxter presents such morbid fascination of its canine character that the dog fitting Baxter's role was by far the greatest performance of the film. Baxter's seething rants of misanthropy burned through the film as this "sharkly" creature stared out from a window looking at a life he longed for. Such sights and smells he wanted and when he finally acquired them, he hungered for something more. Just goes to show how superfluous need is. 

The effect Baxter had on me was utterly terrifying and foreign. I found myself scoffing the want or will to love or kill. Once Baxter reaches "the Happy Days", I found myself breathing a sigh of relief as the slowly coiling suspense of his sheltered past began to unwind back to its original state. That happiness didn't last though. When the woman took on child, and in preparation, ignored Baxter, these feelings of contempt for both he and I returned full force. It's as if they never subsided but lie dormant within me the whole time. Concocting another devilish plan to eliminate the obtrusive, Baxter yelps too soon and spares the child's life inadvertently. However, this action thrusts Baxter into the hands of his soul-mate, a young boy obsessed with the final days of Hitler and the love he and Eva Braun shared. By now, you no doubt believe that Baxter is an incarnation of evil, I mean, who would purge to reach like-minded goals? Once Baxter meets that "someone like him", a strange masochistic bond is formed. As Baxter once was disobedient, he is now cultivated and obeys the boy's every command at the expense of his own beatings. The boy molds Baxter into an attack dog, trains him well, but slowly sheds his ruse of proper schoolboy to reveal the greater evil. By the end of the film, you'll feel sorry for ever doubting Baxter as his assertions have been mostly correct. Who really favors the weak? We all thrive off of fear, in one way or another.

By the end of the film, many questions will be asked. For instance, was the abuse given to Baxter authentic or controlled? Judging from France's history of cruelty towards animals in film (Here's to you, Carne), the answer would appear to be genuine. Given the stationary measures of camera work taken in Baxter, the dog's yelps and skittish behavior whilst being whipped and kicked is something that cannot be easily fabricated. Let this film be yet another testament to the demerit of motherhood in which Baxter also explores the jeopardy children are placed in when the female libido is in question. The gift given to Baxter is an indomitable portrait of a canine with stunningly human traits. Sexuality towards human females is bestowed and the thrill of non-consensual sex is displayed, much to his chagrin. Like your best friend, Baxter is somebody you'd love to keep close, but fear of rebellion would resonate soundly. Baxter is so much more than an Animals Attack film and retains the same harrowing element of hatred that it did the day of its release.

-mAQ

Brutal Relax

It seems as if it has been so long since I have last enjoyed a short film; one from this decade that is. Brutal Relax was recently selected to play at Sitges Film Festival, courtesy of Eskoria Films. No matter what might be a translation error as it perfectly chimes the tone of the film. The title is such after the discharge of a patient whom appears to have an aggressive condition. Our mute leading man with a frozen grin is being released from what I can only guess is a sanitarium. The doctor gives strict preference as to where Mr. Olivares should vacate to: somewhere relaxing as to avoid any sort of sparking conflict. The warnings towards avoiding stress weigh heavy enough but for us the trip is hardly over. As soon as Mr. Olivares settles on a beach in a pool of mud, scaly lizard zombies (or demons) crawl from the abyss to slaughter and maim the fun-loving citizens of the resort.

I believe that the most accessible facet to Brutal Relax is the facial comparison of Mr. Olivares to French provocateur Gaspar Noe. The second leading trait is the relentless bloodshed that is always excessive but never tiring. Mr. Olivares always gets his man and even goes as far as wielding a child's mutilated corpse as a club to bludgeon the creatures who have imposed upon the malfunction of his cassette player. Apart from the well-done gore effects and violent slapstick, Brutal Relax also is one of the few films in question that alters the undead into something that doesn't involve pharmacy brand face paint and shredded clothing. These lizard-men emit a pustular discharge from their mouth while chowing down on a passer-byers neck. The cast of victims include beautiful women, children, and the occasional bro. The level of depravity hit is almost shocking. What's more is how enjoyable and utterly intoxicating it all is, especially if you're able to reach the off switch for 15 minutes.

Mr. Olivares is the greatest aspect of the film which is an admirable portion of a serving based entirely on bloodshed. His ambiguity opens the door to possible precursors to what could be a tasty franchise of unpredictable vacation massacres. I, for one, would pay to witness Mr. Olivares in a parka defending a small ice-fishing village from mutant demon penguins. Also appealing is the sexless agenda fueling the bulky monster of a man, denying damsels no longer in distress from victory kisses. Brutal Relax is a bona-fide gruesome short that expresses its point clearly with no genre confusion. Finally, gorehounds did it right.

-mAQ

Sella Turcica

For the first 6 years, ToeTag Pictures, now respectively ToeTag Inc., had been slowly establishing themselves as a dominating force in a genre practically unclaimed and never-to-be-taken-seriously: faux-snuff. What ToeTag did for found footage still represents a turning point in the way I perceive and anticipate violence, regardless of the attitudes of the crew. With a steady drum-roll, The Redsin Tower was finally released with incredible praise. Following August Underground Penance, The Redsin Tower was ToeTag's breaking free from the shackles, as to say, making a real film. My dreadful experience with such was highlighted in a review some years back and I completely lost faith in the ToeTag crew to produce anything that can't be redeemed by a bucket of blood, no matter how realistic or gritty said bucket might be. With my unsightly hair standing on end, I received a copy of ToeTag's latest film, Sella Turcica, and began to slowly digest the images vacuumed onto my screen. It's surely sad to say that the only thing ToeTag ever did correctly was film themselves being assholes with corn syrup. 

The magic that ToeTag achieved in Murder-Set-Pieces is surely not reflected behind the camera. Sella Turcica, which is a depression in the skull having to do with the pituitary gland, is Fred Vogel's image of a "drama," a film so wrapped up inside its ghastly narcissism that it refuses to wield its horror badge until the final ten minutes. The plot revolves around a family's homecoming preparation to a returning soldier and son, Sgt. something-or-another. Bound to a wheelchair, the demise of his ability to walk is a mystery to both the family and the somber fellow whose handicap is his own. Greeting him is his mother, Camille Keaton (Rape "victim"), and his brother, sister, and sister-in-law. Oh, and also the Negro DJ/rapper who is sleeping with the young sister. This wacky cast of can't-be actors play thespian comedy as they bumble about tripping over lines and passing expressions which are better suited for ventriloquist dummies. The worst offender is I Spit on Your Grave's Camille Keaton, whose acting ability reveals itself to be limited exclusively to being chased, raped, repeat. Translating the synopsis while filtering out the bullshit is simply a favor I cannot bless the Pittsburgh based "filmmakers." 

It's become glaringly obvious that the fans of ToeTag concentrate their behavior into a "cult" of sorts, almost like Juggalos but nowhere near the severity of brainwashing. As this hivemind would have it, no negative connotations may surround any film in the independent oeuvre of ToeTag, lest you be flamed with verbal threats of Fulci-worthy torture. Did I mention that the dog in the film is named Fulci? I wonder whose fandom has been plastered upon us. Sella Turcica is a film that has received incredible word-of-mouth and will sell at least several thousand copies, a dubious honor considering the film would better serve as a practical effects demo reel. The commendations from such high-profile horror sites should have been my warning to tread away as these are the same fans who claimed The Redsin Tower to be the horror marvel of 2006. It's not an unknown fact that Sella Turcica is a remake of Deathdream, regardless of what anyone tells you. The same war-horror story is traced with alterations but retains the same heart, but not quite as I'm sure Deathdream is the far superior film. 

If you favor derivative familial functions than Sella Turcica might be your cup of tea, but if you're expecting a tale of tempestuous horror worthy of the Hitchcock inspired poster artwork you'll be sorely disappointed. Only in the finale does something of an event unfold. Suddenly the Sgt. stands up, spitting up blood and tissue matter all over his shirt and begins to smash, claw, bite, and break his family members in a vegetated fashion, as saying the twitchy movements and snarls of the undead son are the only bright aspects of the entire production. When this somewhat rousing scene of retribution is unleashed upon the annoying kinfolk, it's as if the stars aligned and a bit of light had shed upon the land. Had Fred Vogel decided to make a dedicated zombie film, perhaps I'd have kinder hostilities to spout but alas, he's settled for documenting interracial relationships while shoving the alternative lifestyles of his actors down your throat. Yes, we get it. You like tattoos and piercings as well as your fans. I only wish he'd audition people other than fans for his productions. When the calling for ToeTag is finally answered, what we get is rotten and expired. Not to say the film wasn't dead the first utterance that escaped Camille Keaton's mouth. 

-mAQ

Kick-Ass

I have never understood the fascination with comic books and superheroes, especially with people over the age of 10. One must be very desperate for complete and utter escapism if they fantasize about being some flying ubermensch that sports homoerotic tights. After all, if one is truly looking for escapism, why not fantasize about a dream that could actually come true, like being the next Vincent Gallo or Klaus Barbie. In the recent film Kick-Ass, a four-eyed virgin weasel named Dave decides to make his superhero dream come true by wearing an aesthetically repulsive costume (to match his equally repulsive body) and fighting a bunch of criminals that end up deservedly kicking his self-righteous fanboy fanny. Despite being a limp-wristed pussy, a bystander records Dave aka “Kick-Ass” in a moment of dubious heroism that helps make him an internet phenomenon and local superhero. 

Potential Sodomy Victims

Hollywood is very big on promoting philistine escapism and Kick-Ass certainly delivers in that regard. Like most Hollywood films, Kick-Ass manages to combine the petty problems that Americans have (in this case, a virgin who always gets his ass kicked) with wacky and absurd solutions to these problems. For example, whilst being beaten by a large Negro, a little white girl (Hit-Girl) magically saves dilettante superturd Kick-Ass from certain death. Also, like many Hollywood films (a legacy that ultimately began with Shirley Temple), Kick-Ass sexualizes the prepubescent Hit-Girl. Not only can Hit-Girl single-handedly beat up a room of barbaric Negro criminals but she can also seduce grown men with her mini-skirt. Hit-Girl’s Father Big-Daddy (I am sure this name is supposed to have a typically Hollywood Freudian connotation) has no doubt trained her well. 

This little girl has grown a deadly phallus

Kick-Ass is certainly another sick and clever attempt by the degenerate perverts at Hollywood to demoralize children at a very young age. Despite most young children being punished by their parents for even reciting the title of the film, Kick-Ass is no doubt a film geared towards the youngest of viewers. The Shrek films are full of somewhat subtle sexual innuendos but Kick-Ass goes all the way with a little girl yelling “Cunt” and literal Kleenex-filled masturbatory fantasies. Perversion aside, why would anyone want to see a little girl and a high school weakling as superheroes in the first place? I have fond memories of watching Tim Burton’s Batman in elementary school as I saw Batman as an admirable superhero that as a child I could look up to. Do contemporary grade school children really look up to little girls and high school nerds as real heroes with strong moral principles? I guess it would be considered ageism and sexism for young boys and girls to look up to a large muscular man as a superhero. 

On the Left: The Ugliest Villain in Film History

When it comes down to it, Kick-Ass is an expensive pile of cinematic garbage expertly concocted and executed by the culture-distorting globalists that manufacture films in Hollywood. The message of the film is that criminals are bad but even a little girl and a teenage loser (who pathetically pretends he is gay as a way to get close to a girl) can defeat them if they have a strong enough will to moral power. Personally, I found Kick-Ass ultimately lacking in fulfillment as the sickly-looking Israelite from Superbad, who plays the Villain Red Mist, did not die a miserable death via gassing or being burned alive (this death was reserved for everyone’s favorite Hollywood psycho: Nicholas Cage). Instead, one can expect another chapter in the phantasmagorical-schlock Kick-Ass franchise. 

-Ty E

I Saw the Devil

I've been picking my brain raw in consideration of a review on Kim Ji-woon's latest effort in the form of vigilante nihilism. Every social construct or approved branch of justice is at its mercy in I Saw the Devil. The characters understand the game at hand so flawlessly that mistakes and repercussions are merely shrugged off as the witty cat-and-mouse exploits have created a form of rivalry so potent that agony itself is suppressed from both of the leading men. The scale of inert mayhem reaches the point of becoming a staggering rendition of what The Chaser could have been had rape and brutal violence been introduced to the mix. Not to inhibit The Chaser's universal appeal to even those who aren't wary of the wonders of foreign cinema, but I Saw the Devil has more things going for it and maintains a steady pace at all time with The Chaser. In the end, both of these films seem to be likely companion pieces to each other, leaving I Saw the Devil with administrative rights over The Chaser's toned foundation. Too bad I Saw the Devil didn't introduce yet another anti-social butterfly to weed out the whores and scum - children or not.

Lee Byung-hun follows the universal-piece-of-shit G.I. Joe: Rise of Cobra with a reuniting of Kim Je-woon, director of The Good, the Bad, the Weird. Along for the ride is Choi Min-sik who most of you know as the sociopathic lead of the gateway Korean film, Oldboy. After losing his fiancée to a serial rapist/murderer, Lee Byung-hun utilizes his skills from being an NIS agent to capture and tease the killer with bludgeonings and many unanswered questions. As detailed in the script, I Saw the Devil is essentially a twisted hunt, "Catch and release..." is the only way Byung-hun can fulfill the promise he made to inflict 1000 times the amount of pain his beautiful broad suffered at the hands of this killer. But on a positive note, it is noted that Min-sik "always gives pleasure before pain." What follows is a series of cringe-worthy torture scenes, brief however, and stellar performances by both of the starring monsters. Taking in Min-sik's role of Oh Dae-su, it was still hard to imagine him stooping so low to scrape the bottom of the barrel for what might be the most twisted and ambiguous profile of a killer in Korean cinema yet.

A strange renaissance has occurred recently. It seems that the sometimes-banal horror community has started to flock and mingle about this films release. Had there been no severing of an Achilles tendon or multiple decapitations, one must wonder if the pimpled Krueger fans would have ever been wary of I Saw the Devil's existence. But even with the content remaining, wiping the drool left from "respectable" communities who pride slaughter over sympathy, I Saw the Devil is being shown in an edited form, lacking over seven minutes of runtime to keep from getting a +19 which is the strictest rating in South Korea. I Saw the Devil does have a soul, however. It isn't a film about the mercy of love, rather, revenge. The tragic incident unfolds through the first 5 minutes of the film in order to jump start the intensity and chronicle the heartbreak rather than the romance, which seems to be a South Korean standard in film. A fun fact is Yeonpyeong Island, home to Choi Min-Sik's ruthless character, was fired upon with artillery by North Korea not too long ago, tying film fact and fiction to current events.

This film eventually boils over with the excess torture and extreme misogyny/degradation, which is a miracle in my book. Before this reaches into the realm of error though, Ji-woon finally releases the leash to allow the once slow-burning baggage to rain down in glorious last-minute hysterics, rendering the odyssey itself an artifice. Truly one of S.Korea's more versatile and extinguished actors, Lee Byung-hun proves himself to be a game changer and with the closure of this tale, a huge sigh of relief escapes me. I've been widdling away at the most anticipated releases of the past two years. Worse off is the fact that the list just keeps building itself back up to an intimidating length. Next up, Mr. Oizo's Rubber. Chalk that up to bad cinephile behavior. To wrap my thoughts up in a decorative piece, I Saw the Devil isn't exactly S.Korea's best foray into criminal minds. With Memories of Murder, No Mercy, The Chaser, and the many others flooding the theaters faster than they can make them, I Saw the Devil merges quite fittingly into the latter. The script-writing is razor-sharp and the production is as lively as it is maddening. All in all, definitely worth the wait.

-mAQ