There has been a VAST change in the American sexual landscape in the last ten years. Yeah, you can blame the internet for it. I have a mental picture that in the near future, wizened grandfathers will tell disbelieving youngsters about how they had to leave the house to get porn and how naked women only existed on the glossy pages of magazines or on grainy copies of well-worn video cassettes.
Ah, the good ol’ days.
Back then, if you didn’t want just plain ol’ boy-girl, girl-girl or some variant thereof action, it was usually the thing of only hearsay or rarity. Now, thanks to the easy of deliverability and the anonymity afforded by the Internet, man’s darkest and most twisted desires are literally made flesh. The shadows of these are presented to us in “A Serbian Film”.
I am a city boy. I want to live somewhere surrounded by concrete, near a bustling road with sodium streetlights pigmenting the world in their pale tangerine hues. I need Internet, cable TV and a good Chinese restaurant I can go to at three in the morning if I want to. Born here, raised here and will probably die here.
If I’m really lucky, it will be of natural causes.
Ironically, something just doesn’t feel natural about small towns to me. They just feel so… normal. Too normal, even and like they say, if something seems too good to be true, it probably is. I remember going to a little town in Colorado once that looked like it was straight out of a picture postcard, so naturally I thought there had to be something weird and disturbing going on there. All small towns are like that.
When you get to be my age, death is no longer some far off and abstract concept; it becomes very real, very close and very personal. Most of the time, we only catch a glimpse of it out of the corner of our eye, but with increasing frequency, we find that it has come up directly behind us: dank, charnel house expirations raising the hair on the back of our neck.
Sometimes, it gives us no such courtesy and simply grabs us by throat, pins us to the ground and as the final darkness closes in around us we can only think, “I thought I’d have more time.”
Back once again, fat and full of turkey, we’ve got this week’s installment of “What Do Horror Fans Want?” This time we present, the man, the myth, the legend in his own pants: Bojangles of Horror Trailer.com and Talk Horror.com
If you’re one of the innumerable masses that has ever lived in an apartment, you are familiar with that twinge of anxiety that comes with knowing some stranger has gotten into your place while you’ve been away. No, it’s not a criminal of any type, it’s one of the apartment’s personnel. Maybe they’re there to fix something or spray for bugs or do some other kind of routine maintenance, but the whisper of fear is still there. After all, some person who you don’t know has just gotten into where you call home. Quite honestly, I didn’t really experience this feeling until I moved into my most recent place. The first time I had an apartment was when I used to carry a gun for a living and I almost shot the only person I ever found in there.
“Kodie” was the final film shown on opening night at the 2nd annual DOA Blood Bath Film Festival so there was a lot of build up. As we were walking around we overheard most of the crowd saying this was the film they were anticipating the most. Of course with all the buzz, we began to get more and more jazzed about it. It’s a hard thing being a reviewer sometimes. Especially when it comes to Indie films because you know that these people are probably the hardest working filmmakers out there. They literally dump their heart and soul into each and every project.
For any local horror fans who missed out on this – quite simply – you missed a lot. Blood Bath 2 featured roughly 16 hours of horror goodness. Opening the program was a set of shorts from the Splatterfest Film festival. For those of you not in the know – as I was – Houston’s Splatterfest Film Festival features shorts from teams of filmmakers who have two days to write, shoot and edit their film. To add an element of “horror improv” to it, the teams are assigned a murder weapon, a character to include and a line of dialogue that each short must have. It made for some very interesting and creative films. Of that first set, “Award-Winning Masterpiece” was particularly memorable as perhaps the funniest and most twisted take on exorcisms that I have ever seen.
It’s time for another episode of “TerrorScribe Confessions.”
If you missed the previous episode, we won’t recap the horrible and embarrassing events of that night. Suffice it to say that powdered lime works exactly how they say it does and that I will never look at a Jello pudding pop the same way again.
This week’s confession: it’s taken me three tries to watch this movie.